Am I the shore? Place to rest in sun
’til waters reflect.
I know it is not what I am
to you, but many.
Am I for the wandering?
Hide here in time-
Tear up on cliffs, let go, fall
deep in water.
With salty wounds shelter staring,
in a cave, between fires silhouette.
Morning comforts rise across an ocean;
Find fortune on those shores.
Sail in, out, and smile goodbye,
Our island fruit in parlour – stay strong
In heart and soul labours.
I see all this water as one,
though perhaps I am mistaken.
I recall a place where two oceans will not merge.
I don’t know the merging (or rather un-merging) point,
or even why it occurs – but I know it exists,
and I wonder if it is these? The Atlantic and Indian?
Or is it this sea that laps the shores of the continent
of the north and east of the Isle I now try to survive on?
The north sea I have not touched
except maybe through some one else’s fingertips.
Is she warmer than her other family?
Is she clean and fresh?
Does she merge easily with the currents
drift passed her caressing her sides?
Or is she like me?
I have seen the shore
Where the Indian ocean places
Her warmth on the land.
In long days danced
The rhythm in my veins
Of the drums in the night
That embrace every breath
Of the air surrounding me.
I have dipped embodied hopes
Of children in her shimmering filth,
As too have I dipped their toes
In the Northern Atlantic. Only their toes,
The water and ways of this ocean are unfamiliar.
Cold. Uninviting. Stark.
I can’t make myself walk into its depths.
My soul will freeze in its clutches.