One Black Summer

Satish Verma

I break myself 
today, angry with me, 
for small things. 

Not able to finish 
the track, I will sell now― 
my dreams. 

How do I turnaround, 
to seek my aching legs, 
for the fear of climb? 

The call of the peaks, 
in deep ocean, 
for an asylum? 

Why did it happen to 
unhappen, when you were 
fighting like a lynx with fate?