Poetry

I was ready to board the ship
laden with terror on mortal waves.
The patriarch was dying inside
the sleeve of hidden rocks.

Hope and death,
death and hope
flicker in dark. What if the blasts
start again in the cool air?

The planks lick the salt of earth.
Lipless mouths cannot speak.
Departure of sun was blameless,
unanswerable to human wails.


Satish Verma