In dark I perceive soundless steps
shifting restlessly
rustling of clothes.
gentle tapping on the window
a shadow floats.
I don’t know if I was moving myself
trampling sleep.
Persistent insomnia sometimes creates
strange images.
Heart will toss the words in silence
and I will lit the blue flame in stillness.
That skimpy memory of a half-burned
corpse in a smoked room
haunts me. I carry the imprint of
violence in nerves, throbbing.
A riot of bright color in bougainvillaea
will wake me up in the morning.
Satish Verma