Starless winter night, the cold, dark waters,
the Boatman comes to ferry the midnight travellers;
then jumps out upon that same old harbour,
leaving the lonely boat unanchored…
Of the story he has now much gathered,
from the traveller, the mother and a boat ride he vaguely remembers.
Entranced, he walks up to the last house by the river,
and spotting the fence, does stealthily climb over.
He knows not how he came upon the silver dagger,
yet ever since he’s had it – all he thinks of is slaughter.
Whether it’s his spirit spurring him on, or some other’s,
he is ready to finish this story – one way or another.
Sprawled on the redwood porch, snores the drunk money lending miser,
and the Boatman advances toward him in sin, unafraid of hellfire…
© Isha Garg