Shore Within

By Prosari Chanda

People are waves 

one, a disc of hammered gold; 

the next, wild and roaring.

 Another brings stories of us, 

like a mysterious land

sonnet-strewn with stars. 

Then— interminable silence, 

rain falling in sheets,

a pinch of you, 

a twitch of me. 

Zing.

And I have lost it, 

little by little

the knowing of how 

the other gives you affection 

and destroys your soul. 

Oh, that beauty is grim, 

and something always 

covers something else

like waves folding into waves, 

untraceable, 

but for the echo of touch.

We live our ephemeral dream, 

walking the streets 

and unpossessed places

where time keeps its

 endless counting down.

By Prosari Chanda