~ Buoyant, I’d have sailed … ~
Only if I knew,
Where am I going …
Could have steered my sail’s way,
Propelling thus away,
From the frowning winds,
And the agony stricken sky,
Throwing myself like a heady child,
On the muddy duvet of slapping water,
Face buried deep in the fostering vale of chaos,
Glancing sideways, anticipating an answer,
Moving slowly, an unfaltering mast,
Knowing where to halt,
Feeding on the needed capricious strife …
Hunching the keel, a bit lesser than broken?
But, my hull is still not so strong,
Flanked too poorly, a disgrace to my fantasy-sail,
Could I have better slipped into a stubborn wooden cask?
I may have, only if I knew,
Where am I going …
So now … On the last leg of self, I ruminate —
The unforgettable, of my clammy-decked voyage,
Has not been the setting sun, or the rosy moon,
But not finding my way out, when direly needed …
I am still lost, at the disheveled vortex of this calmness,
Sweating cold like a sea-bull’s back,
And, I can only wait,
As I’ve waited, since always …
I know, I’m kindly destined to drown,
Until I cough the bottom-sand out of my clogged mouth,
And say, fiercely rubbing my teary-eyes with the hilt of my
white palm,
‘Death, you beautiful menace, come engulf me fast,
For I belong more to none but thee!’
