This Winter

This truth was yours―
not mine. I was
fighting a lone battle.

Have seen―
the legends, tall claims,
of tumbling heights.

In my aloneness
I am searching myself
for the page of testimony.

Walked in pain,
to find you― O god I wanted
to believe in you.

Acceptance. The
world forgets. We talk of
paper dreams. There was no
green tree.

My hands were papyruses.
Who had drawn out
the mystery lines?

Satish Verma