Pardon Hans Andersen
I derive out of the sea, weeds clinging to my feet,
salt dripping from wet hair; like sailors’ myths, fictions.
I look at the wet, forlorn fishing nets; the bodies
of dead lives alive with ice. I cannot remember
the passion behind my rising into this world’s shore.
Was it some ancient oral tall tale? Or some girl?
I rise out of a sea speckled with boats in search of
lives to kill to sustain lives. I am to look at sea,
with sad eyes, yearning water, without way to return…
I would have turned into stones or a metal figure
but a girl come near with an offer of candies
a taste I acquire and never return to sea.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
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Comments: 44
Blessings and best wishes - S.
Rampant Waves
- R
Thank you for posting this to The Surreal Circus.
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
Sorry for the generic post, but my box is a bit overloaded so I am trying to catch up.