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I may break
But never turn into dust.
Sun-soaked day like a seagull
Glides with a cruising ship
Crosses a long way
With ease.
Amidst waves, unaware
When the tired evening descends
At port
They too anchor themselves
But in two different worlds,
Where at chirping of the bird
The indifferent mast
Doesn’t unfurl the sail.
Where does it keep its eyes,
At which Sirius?
Amassing words later,
Die at silent grave
Facing the night.
In wakefulness amidst stars
Cringed memories
Break me down
Yet I don’t turn into dust.
Desolated at the shore
Of a lonely island
Holding words on my chest
I tie an ocean
Where poetry flies its hem. |
