Not Yet Battered

Satish Verma

The pain physical. 
I carve it in my mind, to 
set it free― like the leaf going 
to meet the ground. 

To carry myself, holding 
within, the desire to seek liberation 
from coming and going. 

My unroofed walls, taking 
in, the sun, the rains― 
the storm― the snow. 

And my hurts― 
my poesy. 

I am confronting myself 
for the final count.