Monday, April 02, 2012

Seashells

by Linda Bansil

His words to me sound like its carried by the wind
which stick to your throat like hot soup in a stormy day
as leaves fall out from its branches 
or the wind blows a whistle as if to say
stay where you are and do not move
invoking such command into a stand still
somehow time knows
that is  how powerful words can be
like waves in the ocean
its currents can sway to places you wouldn't have a courage to go
Say the far stretch of the shores where big hard stones places
its foot firmly to the sandy thickness of waters
whose hands are outstretched to the outskirts of the raging sea
the whispers of winds and shapely shoulders
of the angry oceans whose fingers can no longer be touched
by one so frail and unsteady
It drains the warmth of bodies who entangle themselves to willingness 
and unfathomable longing to the wide space
which words will never be able to complete or resemble
such death silence that words cannot truly catch
like fish that  swim  without fins or those seashells
who stay beautiful even when succumbed by death
shell then be and nothing more
held by those who walk this shores
makes ones attention close to its touch
as if it lives to be right at their necks
to be with the one who adores the sea
to adorn the living who can still walk the shores
waters lined in blue and green
hair tendrils swaying by the sea in shorts

July 2007
Post a Comment