Counting The Steps

Satish Verma

When saline drowns the lips, 
my words tremble. 

Almost I stumble upon 
the fish house spilling the vertebrates. 

I had given them, the name 
to the swirling limbless thoughts. 

One by one they come on the edge 
and blow the ashes, towards me. 

You always dream of a procession 
of dead bodies under the window. 

In the little study, you are 
afraid of leaning walls. 

And you say you were responsible 
and to be held accountable.