Waves, the grieving mothers:
always keep coming back to the shores.
With a hope of being embraced
and held forever.

Alas!
But all I see is their exodus
beneath the beautiful crimson sky,
with salt in my breath,
and their unseen teary eyes.

They say, the sound of the ocean is lovely.
But what if it is a humongous melody of lament
conjured from the longing for its shores?

A homonym for the humans
wrapped in nature’s plight.

A dream fed to me
by the silence of the night.

A memory so wrong,
it now seems right.

© Shashank Bhardwaj