FOOTFALLS

It was in you, 
the beast. 
Reading your private thoughts: 
tribal instinct- 
to gather tools. 
Dwindling belief. 

You are left high and dry 
after the deluge receded. 
A big fire 
erupted in your house 
to burn you alive. 

Footfalls of disquieting roar 
breaks the empty silence. 
So thin was the salty air, 
it spewed the fire. 
Death of the moment. 

You sit down on the rocks 
outside your body 
and start counting 
the winks.

Satish Verma