Thursday, September 9, 2010


Walking by the seashore.
Groping for the truth.

Stepping in the sand.
Meddling with the world.

Footprints left in the way.
Impressions, I made on the world.

Sand, glued to my feet.
Impressions, the world made on me.

Sweeping tide, forth and back,
Sweeping years, with each attack.

Washed away footprints, by the wave's fervor.
Vanished self-image, in the world's mirror.

Darkening sky, Closing light.
Sealing shutter, Diminishing hope.

Wobbling boat in the middle of the storm.
Wavering will to live, in the human swarm.

Rampant oar, in the hands of the rower.
Childish protest, against the fate's power.

Submerged boat, prevalent calm.
Quenched sparkle, omnipresent dark.

The lifeless body, washed up to the shore.
Defeated spirit, dispatched from world's core.

Growing light, showing dead man's face.
Cruel world, laughing at the misery of failure.

A burp from the mouth, oozing-out of water.
A small light  through the keyhole, bursting-out of the door.
A small coup in the loom of failure, revival of the dead hope.

My helping hand to the struggling man.
The worlds helping hand to the struggling me.