Poetry

I see the sea the sea is me and up above the sea the sky -
the sky is I -
and in between the line unseen.
The sailor’s stitch, the traveller’s twitch,
the fisher’s dish,
the broken hearted gazer’s melancholy wish.

We three: the me the sea the I the sky;
the endless brine,
the high azure, the green allure,
the maw and caw of teals and terns.
The line discerns
no others but the brothers in our holy trinity.

I dive. I die.
A tattered trine.
Just me, the sea; no sky. No I.
A tightened twine,
a hook, a fly.
A gift divine - I bite the lie.
A pull. A cry.
A stranded break; the sea forsakes
the I, the sky.
From death, to breath.
The line is broke - I churn, I choke.
The tendon's torn.
A yawp, a yawn.

I am reborn.

I see the sea the sea is me and up above the sea the sky –
the sky is I –
and in between the line unseen.
The paddlers play, the Sadhus pray;
the peddlars hawk
their nuts from huts beside the burning flesh.

We three: the me the sea the I the sky;
the shuttered spy,
Varuna’s lye, Surya’s wings.
The rani sings of humid kings
and gods up high
stretch the string to keep abyssal monks at bay.