A gossamer-thin ocean hits low notes today.
Only the lower ones; the hapless sullen lover,
The nonchalant up above couldn’t care less.
Wind bleats, boat creaks, pet dogs merry-hop
In the sea-wind. Voices rise and fall with the waves.
These shores, they say, have seen the Mayflower.
Countless others have sunk to the bottom,
A slow dissolution of collective merciful being.
People of the first light walked here; These waters
Are the finest monuments. Revered flotsam of undaunted lives.
Lighthouses, moved and freshly painted, still carry the
Dim fragments of light; strewn from the blue hollow.
The biggest moon of the year's impending, we must head back
Soon. Quietly, we exchange smiles like vows.
Sense drowns deep in me or perhaps it’s the nip of the wind.
Like a fool I toss away my shoes and walk
Barefoot on the beach, soft sand and silken touch and all.
Anant Dhavale
( Edited significantly from the previous draft.)
