a poem by Hari (Hyd)

Every night arrives
Cold and unfeeling
Armed with dreams
Of regrets; that undoing
They fall on deaf ears
Apologies unending
Not for the wrongs done;
But for not acting
At the right times.
The conscience is speaking
Into the heart, it bites
At the door – is knocking
Sleep or forgiveness
No way of knowing
For none arrives.