I Shall Let Go

Moisture was becoming
the strength of dry eyes;
pounding a glacier.

There were different stages
of anguish under the aegis
of moon. I am abandoning

the night of terror. Days
were numbered. One by
one, they fell before the dawn.

Time had been revengeful.
Asking for the pound of flesh,
against kisses of death, given free.

I refuse to submit an
apology for writing my poems
instead of sending laurels
for the rising sun.

Satish Verma