A Different Tide
A boat unfurls its sail and floats away
In this water-embraced world
This blue bewitchment,
So many fires die against the flowtide
While sleep's hand shivers during ebb-tide
A dimness within the joy of villages haats markets,
Scattered tales in the shadow of the banyan tree,
In the footsteps of the white cow the golden earth sparkles,
Silver fish leap out from the basket
Morning splashes towards the room,
And faces that are glimpsed
Are enclosed within a festive air.
Warning cries in the face of a cyclone
This is a different tide.
I don't know where others are flung
The water's fist grabs me
Tosses me down by the ragged shore,
No worldly life is clear,
Who were they that roamed with lanterns on the banks at night
Their fog-covered bodies invisible now.
Did they sow seeds?
Not a single bud or plant in the layers of mud
Not a trace anywhere of a human touch,
Their breath, impossible to hear distinctly,
Merges with the empty wind.
I search for the earth's sparkle,
For various-hued words,
But in the air above my head
The sky roars
And at my feet an ever-restless, different tide flows.
In this water-embraced world
This blue bewitchment,
So many fires die against the flowtide
While sleep's hand shivers during ebb-tide
A dimness within the joy of villages haats markets,
Scattered tales in the shadow of the banyan tree,
In the footsteps of the white cow the golden earth sparkles,
Silver fish leap out from the basket
Morning splashes towards the room,
And faces that are glimpsed
Are enclosed within a festive air.
Warning cries in the face of a cyclone
This is a different tide.
I don't know where others are flung
The water's fist grabs me
Tosses me down by the ragged shore,
No worldly life is clear,
Who were they that roamed with lanterns on the banks at night
Their fog-covered bodies invisible now.
Did they sow seeds?
Not a single bud or plant in the layers of mud
Not a trace anywhere of a human touch,
Their breath, impossible to hear distinctly,
Merges with the empty wind.
I search for the earth's sparkle,
For various-hued words,
But in the air above my head
The sky roars
And at my feet an ever-restless, different tide flows.
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