Hall of a Hundred Doors
— by S. Satya*

In a hall too vast for sight to span,
Where silence breathes and shadows ran,
The walls divide, the gates unfold,
A maze of chambers, worn and old.

Behind me chase the faceless few,
With hands that claw, with eyes untrue.
I run through rooms that shift and bend,
Locking doors that will not end.

Each door I shut, a breath I steal,
Each lock I turn, a wound I seal.
Yet no escape, just deeper in—
A loop of fear beneath my skin.

A window glows with silver light,
A whisper of the world outside.
I lift the latch for those I love,
To send them free like caged doves.

But just before my time to flee,
The gate erupts—
it breaks through me.

I brace the weight with all my might,
My hands on fire, my soul in flight.
And in that grip, where heat uncoils,
I wake—heart pounding, drenched in toil.

A dream? Perhaps.
But more it seems—
A map of strength
etched deep in dreams.