Torn | Mithuna S. Nath

Hushed moans all around
The dilapidated cottage

Obsessed by a call
I’ve come

For an appalling reunion
With the ghosts
Of my forebears

A touch sets off
The rush of adrenaline

Not a moth
Neither a waft

Not the incense
Of ginger lily

Jade to bear witness
I am not here

Far off
In a sinister study
I peruse a memoir

Between the lines
My penitence surfaces
Incises
In the vein of a stiletto,
To my shock—-
I am torn apart.

Indian Poetry and Literature | The poem Mithuna S. Nath writes for Indian Review. We bring you poetry from around the world.