Posted by: Pucadyil | February 3, 2010

The Beach

the beach looks forlorn in the misty morning,
after the stormy night and the lashing waves
tousled tresses wet and sticky with the damp
lulled into troubled sleep by the wailing winds
A clutch of crows, fights over scattered flotsam
raucous cries annotated by the rumbling waves
now tired, nevertheless persistent on insisting
on a frothy embrace with the sullen shore
My footsteps dimple the wet sand as I walk
along the lonely beach, after a restless night
sidestepping the deadwood scattered on the shore
high tide’s offering of peace for the violent night
the damp wind caresses my face in passing
and flits away to touch the droopy palm fronds
which evade the embrace and tremble with unease
warning the playful wind to keep its distance
I must go back home to reflect and ponder
on what the night had brought in dark visions
fight my own fight with symbols and meaning
with reason, the pacifier of a troubled mind


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