RETURN TO MYSELF

Dumbly you come 
to the brink of a precipice, 
at the point of no return. 
Moving, pivoting with 
a huge perception. 
Knowing that life was exacting, 
you are alive, 
alone with a conflict. 
Your choosing was a miracle. 

Seeking was not ending. 
Death was an inadvertent mistake. 
You lie down in terror. 
Deep in the bones you know, you have to move. 
There was no cloud above the eyes, 
history was an aberration- 
rags to riches. 

You become yourself 
when death defines a name 
and I remember a sunset. 
My shaking fingers 
weave a drape of sorrow. 
There was no patch of green 
I return to myself.

Satish Verma