THE SURRENDER
- Apr 24
- 1 min read
By Brindha Shyamsundar
Moody night without a moon,
revulsed by the red-eyed owl’s perky hoots.
A vapour lamp’s burnt-yellow hollow
claps thunder into its widening bruise.
Teeth clack in the dark, syncing
with the mangy dog that growls
at the scent
of my regurgitated grief.
What I swallowed returns now,
looming, rising,
a shadow finally disgorged.
I search for eyes and find none,
only his slender, bony fingers
folding me into a wordless hug.
Cold spills from his touch,
and a gooey black gum slithers
to cross my arms, creeping
up my neck, spine,
heart and head.
I obey,
a fly in a spider’s cunning weave,
as he lays me upon a carpet
of algae, velvet-green. My lungs
fill with its pervasive musk
while he drags me through the murk.
No fight left in the hush of gloom,
only the sight of an empty sky
holding its last flickering stars
as they quietly disappear.