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.
••••
Vagabonds
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
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.
