One Morning

​One morning they will call you
they will tell you your name
they will listen to the unlidded silence
of your abandoned yesterday,
They will talk in whispers
behind your back
they will fish in dark waters
of flesh-borne skin of clay,
they will talk of confessions
that will hover over the lampshade,
they will bandage love-letters 
in a salt-stirred libretto and pray,
they will walk through the town
carrying a basilica of theatrical prayers
and under the weight of tombstones
they will declare you dead,
you will become a rosary
as they prepare to decay.
​© Jaspreet Mann