The Ocean is busy – a poem

After the ancient tempest was over,
the Eagle sat on the mountain-top
He looked upon the Sisyphean Ocean
So dramatically appropriate,
The ashen water was scarlet and lulling
It brushed his soul –
More rippling than his own feather
The lonesome Eagle realized
there was no rain with the storm
He felt painfully thirsty,
craving to liquidate the iceberg,
But remembered the Delphic line,
drawn between He and the Ocean
Yet, and yet, he let a feather fall
from his wing into the water.
Oh, the wind was cruel!
It took it to the shore –
A lassie liked its colours,
and she pinned it in her hair
The Eagle cursed the Wind beneath his wings.


The night fell…and it was Moonless…
He waited, sleepless and long,
long enough to be history
Waives were making uninvited sounds,
Piercing him with elegiac arrows
The secret bleeding didn’t stop with Dawn
He saw the Oceans taking care of sharks and whales.


Before flying away,
He looked at the mauve Sun –
His eyes shimmering.

I wrote this poem in 1998. I found it in the heap of my writings. Read it again and felt good. If I would’ve written this today, it’d be very differently. – EK

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