by Anupam Patra
A forest of remorse has covered
the realm of my existence,
deep within whose canopy
sits the wreckage of my shame
an encumbered soul contests
temptations of its own salvation
it no more trusts in acquittal
of a conscience convicted for betrayal
not always does evidence of damage
bring one to judgment
sometimes, guilt is born and raised
in the dreadful abyss of undeserved misery
a decree of time consigns the offender
to wait under clouds of nostalgia
till they shower phantasms
and he becomes tears of past,
gushing from crevices nurturing nibbling regret
drops of reminiscence soak the soft earth
where once her softer feet,
having crossed two continents,
left its enduring print
she had stood at the gates,
digging her toes,
balancing her love against her limit,
split – unsure of walking further
afraid perhaps, of being caught
by smiling portraits of a family
she was hesitant to break;
her heart was breaking simultaneously
tempted by exhaustion and dismay
of a lifetime of loneliness
we had stepped forth
a road from where,
I should have known,
neither of us was meant to return
But I am guilty of lighting fire,
of inflicting burns on her dignity,
for returning, when walking
was the only way forward
the dagger of betrayal
breached her sacred faith
her enduring commitment
at last lay dead
Would forgiveness
rescue a soul marooned
on an island of such guilt?
Is there forgiveness at all
in some hells
we choose upon ourselves?
