For Myself


Things have come and gone.


Weeks on, I arrive here searching
For asylums –
To put out the fire within me.
The wait has been beyond suffering.


A figure of partition is the scene outside.
Most days, the rain beats the bay-windows.
The ocean throws across its mood’s fury –
Like the insolence of a brat-child.


The sky is more and more black,
Rehearsing for a storm.
Images of skyscrapers look at each other.
A boat whose sails will be torn…


Is mutely recognizing its isolation.
Perhaps, it is holding on to the world –
The way I am.
And no help is coming…



From Trident Club Lounge


Geeta Chhabra


From the book: Smash My Glass by Geeta Chhabra.

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