The Sailor

The sailor arrived, one day, like the wind,

Carrying a still, sagacious countenance,

He anchored his child, wiped its floor,

Brushed a hand across his auburn face,

And on he looked with fetching eyes,

At a cerulean span and the far off lands,

That summoned fond days of his voyages,

And a hundred flames that burned strong still.

They knew not of his desires, his delight,

Of his wisdom and of his latent light,

That like an ocean of calm waves built within,

Serenaded his heart and tamed his eyes.

To them he was but a mere man, quiet,

That beamed amiably through the sun,

But at sundown, lay still on the sand,

And with weary eyes beheld the stars.

The wind blew down and stroked his thoughts,

And caressed his feet with reverence,

For it knew of the vicious tales,

Of storms and hail and the sailor’s plight,

Of despair, of hope, of fleeting fear,

Of gold and sand, of dark and light,

Of strain, struggle, twilight and dawn,

And all that made the sailor wise.

Copyrighted by Delilah Das

Through An Onyx Shard Of Glass

A night, not far ago, I sat alone,

I sat in the dormant wind,

Listening to unhurried heartbeats,

Sounding off like the crickets

On a murky voiceless night.

My eyes with its alien sight,

Through an onyx shard of glass,

Gazed up at a glittery mess

Against the inky backdrop,

And stared past the light years,

Then trailed a course, that which,

Of finite breaths was made,

And time measured in heartbeats,

Of a descending earth, en route

To destinations unheard of.

And of nowhere came live the wind,

Seemed to me it wanted my word,

But I had none, I told it so,

And it blew harder still as I

Sat alone one night, not far ago.

Copyrighted by Delilah Das