In Search Of Tremors

Satish Verma

Night comes like a 
black dog 
around the corner. 

I start paying off the debt 
cry for cry, with a 
ceremonial sword, 
cutting off the shadows 
falling from the 
distant hills. 

My questions are burning― 
on pyre. How did I fail myself? 
Why some mercy 
was unacceptable to me? 

Standing in midstream 
I let go your hand, 
and drown in quick sand of thoughts. 
Now a poem will 
lift me from the ruins.