Sea Fret and Other Poems

Sea Fret

the sea can be terrible at times – 

she baits me with her meddling pecks of shells: 

emulates the ceramic clocks, glazed by her enduring swells. in her drifting cold water, my coarse soul is drowning 

while I hear the intimate sounds of sadness: swirling, 

far across; through her spiralling hollows. 

under her lucid yet fluctuating mother; 

she conjures a galvanic timbre, 

by fiddling my heart strings: cleaved off from my coral guts and bears back my senses, ceaselessly into my infinite past. 

the scavengers, below my vast craters are quiet 

and are on the shore now: touching my restless feet. 

so she floods my eyes and cleanses me; for a finite time but feeds them, my fermenting soul: to breathe under and live forever. 

i wish; she will be my mistress while sailing over my loneliness but she is a jinn: I’m lured by her, so will wander endlessly among others and perhaps reach the shores beyond; as her purple shell. 


The walk 

the dewy midnight sky is queerly quiet. 

the silent sea is dark and soothes the winds; 

flows through the muddle woods: in sudden gloom, 

the pines and blue-gums rustle quite enough 

to seize my gaze; but fall upon the path. 

on the downpour wet mud, the moonlight gleams; 

along with my dry eyes, the beings shines 

and creeps inside: I hear the doleful songs 

of my old peers; far-off, along this path. 

but the chorus yells a tale: the lost sholas 

with purple kurinji and waterfalls, 

so far; my feet are strong, so I will walk. 


The glittering darkness 

I’m baffled by the black fish in the small cylindrical glass bowl; with its bluesy and anxious eyes: peers  beyond, seeking the volume of water and time, but instead it finds me. 

While the noises from my television hinder its gentle yet muddled fins; it stares deep inside my bleak  and hollow eyes, as if it recognises another being from its own bounded life: 

So I realise; we’re both breathing and meandering inside the figment of our lies. 



among the infinite and deafening darkness, 

two strangers are aligned along the moonlight; 

so precisely pierced, at this passage of time. 

although they are floating in far-off oceans: 

together, they are illuminating our twilight skies 

photo 3

Yashwanth Venkatesan

I’m an architect by profession. I love art, poetry and films. And I admire Van Gogh and John Keats. I’ve felt like an outsider among other souls, so I write poetry to connect with them. While living in an empirical world, I’m oddly drawn to metaphysical life and a quest for my singular purpose. All these things make me a fellow blahcksheep.


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