The Ocean's Dilemma

By Diya Biswal

If I was the ocean 

tempests filling my eyes 

as they do the skies, 

would you still crave the pond? 

Bright azure wide, 

sultry with each tide, 

pulsating to thrive. 

Yet you gust up 

in search of the pond,

to the charcoal clouds

as cruel as a broken bond. 

Perhaps stillness is your desire. 

Surface of glass, untouched by storm

for the wind forgets to speak,

no clusters to form. 

She’s a mirror to skies

that has no reason to weep. 

Calm chaos grows 

within the quiet blue, 

where currents don’t stir

what the depths outgrew. 

She’s compact yet full of weight, 

not more than the ocean; its an illusion

but deep enough to make many elate. 

Lily pads lounge like floating thoughts. 

Finite creatures stir with multiple spots. 

It’s place for peace, not for need. 

But I was thunder aching to pour, 

too much for your quiet gold shore. 

My depth is too deep 

as I wept just to sleep. 

The moon by my side,

forcing each tide 

as I continue to cried. 

A perpetual squall in my chest

that never seems to rest. 

Yes, I rage but I’m yours in full,

not a false calm when the light gets dull.

She calls like a siren, soft in disguise,

but her stillness dishonest, 

her sweetness a guise.

You forget she’s my fragment, 

a drop of my control,

born from my tide, yet never whole.

I may be havoc, 

but I hold the truth you seek,

depths that cradle, 

not silence that speaks.

I carry sirens but I am not one.

I’m the origin, the sky and the undone.

She’s a pause — I’m the poem, 

where wild things roam — I am home. 

Why don’t you see? 

“A place for peace, not for need”

It’s a place too shallow 

For the soul to heed.

By Diya Biswal