Seafret

By Yashwanth V

the sea can be terrible at times –

she baits me with her meddling pecks of shells:

emulates the ceramic clocks, glazed by her enduring swells.

in her drifting cold water, my coarse soul is drowning

while I hear the intimate sounds of sadness: swirling,

far across; through her spiralling hollows.

under her lucid yet fluctuating mother;

she conjures a galvanic timbre,

by fiddling my heart strings: cleaved off from my coral guts

and bears back my senses, ceaselessly into my infinite past.

the scavengers, below my vast craters are quiet

and are on the shore now: touching my restless feet.

so she floods my eyes and cleanses me; for a finite time

but feeds them, my fermenting soul: to breathe under and live for ever.

i wish; she will be my mistress while sailing over my loneliness

but she is a jinn: I’m lured by her, so will wander endlessly among others

and perhaps reach the shores beyond; as her purple shell.

By Yashwanth V