Nupur Chaturvedi

One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten
One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten
It’s no use.
Breathe-in-breathe-out, breathe-in-breathe-out
It’s still there, bubbling and frothing.
Calm-down, this-too-shall-pass
All empty self-platitudes.
Nothing reins in this tempest,
No soothing balm, no brow-straightening relief
Can ease the raging angst
From stomping over wind-blown glades
Or from unleashing a flood of bile
That burns your gut as it rises higher.
I feel the thunderous roar closer, I am scared
Will I stand again after this one?
Will I rise again to the same height
Or does it shed an inch off me
With every monstrous campaign?
It has passed, at last
And the doves are white again
Maybe it’s not so bad
Maybe I will conquer it some day.