The waves lash onto the shore -
further on and on and evermore.
They scatter upon the aged rocks -
it is how the sea to the land mocks.
Heavy despair burdened on the heart -
waves from the horizon playing its part.
Each drop is distinct on its own -
return to the golden shore all alone.
The drop is a drop never more -
full of froth, foam, fury and roar.
Those lonely drops, with a splash gone -
to the call of darkness, all alone.
Into deeper depths they lay in wait,
echoes of past as memories, not forget.
Gurgling waves like beats of the heart -
mingle into one as they slowly depart.
What if those drops, those lovely things -
would have flown on dreamy wings?
Pulled from the sea, their own form -
would, in the sky call a grey storm.
As in constellation, the stars shine,
the sea thinks, 'the water is mine'.
Waves like giants pounce on the shore,
yet it keeps longing for evermore.
Each drop with its rise and fall -
such a short life for them all.
Do not think the drops are yet dead,
as they travel towards the sea bed.
They would again rise to the skies,
far from the sea's fury, roar and cries...
PRASENJIT©2025
