Vishal Dutia

Ring the bell! Cowardice slithers once more into the 

Hollow sockets once inhabited by clarity

He spoke, I heard

And yet- what foolish pride, that I should flee the ubiquitous

Grey-marbled sentinels churn o’erhead, venting fury down

In mouthfuls of salt that flood my lungs, spilling over tongues, teeth,

As I hurtle headfirst towards my flooded grave

-Woe to sailors, for the Lord cannot be stopped

And still I nurse a coward’s heart

Above looms the tempest, stinging winds whipping the skin flat against my bones

And then- silence

The roar of vicious torrents vanishes, sucked away in an instant

As a solitary bubble bumps my toes

One, 

Then another, a thousand

Sheol rears below me like a gaping wound, pink-drenched walls inhaling its terrible balm

For thus says the Lord

But stay-

The sun vaults the horizon thrice more and the cage swells,

Retching spasms that cast me onto firmer ground

Awake now, sleeper!

See! What mercy dawns-

Sat in ashes and dust, Nin’eveh greets another morn

And the fish-borne prophet weeps

© VishalDutia