Starless winter night, the cold, dark waters
lash outside, as the killers face each other.
Blood has had blood, through urges inferior,
dark and evil – claiming many sinners.
“In this story, there is no winner”,
says the Boatman, trembling in tears,
“We are, both of us, liars and deceivers,
so let me go now, with a pardon or a bloody sever –
for I grow old – not in years – but worry, and fear…”
Reflecting gravely, the miser gives his answer –
“Justice isn’t mine to grant, though I may have been a lender…
this much I know – we must all pay for our sins here.
I grow weary of wandering too – so I cast this revenge asunder,
and let you go, for boatmen are made for the waters;
travellers, at sea, are forever their seekers –
come to bare soul; sin; or simply cross over –
but every traveller does the boatman require,
for every little story, O Boatman… needs a listener…”
© Isha Garg
Doodle by Isha Garg