Retracing My Steps

With the tiger dead
you will not see the strength
of cascading down.

At the sunset,
fire on wings wavers.
Birds fail to come back
to their nests.

And how a soft noise
becomes a thunder,
when the tongue bleeds?

It was not entirely a sin.
Sleep in my poems. Who
knows, when the poet recites again.

Let the body embrace
the soul.
My flesh will go to hawks,
the spirit would live in you.

My fidelity was on stake.
Be mine, be human, I need you.

Satish Verma