Dutch Door

Moving among the glittering―
crowns, as in glaciated valley.
once again, in capital of grief.
I am folding the twilight.

The viciousness of the hisses, zooms,
once you sleep on the bed of silence.
A blue light cuts you half.
I survive on the black tongues.

The assault was imminent now.
Flat foots will invade the afterthoughts.
The incline was treacherous―
You cannot climb up, nor down.

Give me a haiku after the sun.
There was no night work left and―
I am plotting not to kill myself.
I will burn an empty bark.

Satish Verma