The Creatures of The Deep

The waves spluttered,
oblivious to the everlasting storm
that squeezed me into
my quiet being.
We are the same,
me and the ocean.

Naive of the depths,
the surfers ride
along the waves,
along the waters.
We choose to avoid the depths.

Aren't we afraid?
Not of drowning, though,
who fears death?
But of living, knowing,
that its pressure would crush us too,
and we would have to
live with it.
Easier is to play the waves,
and leave when the tsunami comes.
Still, the disaster would reveal
the creatures of the deep.

The waters,
free,
untouched by the flames.
Sand holds all the friction,
the burning heat,
the scratches
and wounds alike.

They draw a border.
The ocean, nonchalant,
crosses it,
continuously.
It has almost
all of the sand in its depth,
the friction it must endure
to have its existence.

Yet it never succeeds
in engulfing
the whole of it.
Not even on a
full moon night.

Nature warns against
winning it all.
As you were never the owner,
never will be,
just a tiresome visitor,
burdened
with uncanny desires.

Alas!
I chose this day to be on sand.
The new moon night.
No cosmos to help me today.
As I burn,
the sand consumes me.
Friction is vast,
more than I ever felt,
never in two decades,
never in my life.

The ocean sees it.
Greedy, yet tender.
Wants to touch me,
not to consume
but to save.
But the tide fell short.

It dances, high,
it tries but fails.
It tries again,
it fails,
again.
We are
so much alike.

Slowly, I succumb to the friction.
Was it a reflection?
It's Saturn,
I spy in the night sky,
the stubborn planet.
It watches
as I turn into ashes.

Maybe now, sand would like me.
I am like her.
I approached, but at last
the ocean reached me.
Took me all
in one gulp,
never resting.
But is it too late?

Gradually, I realised,
the ocean is free
only as it flows.
It's a traveller.
Never could I visit places,
but as ashes,
I visited the whole world,
leaving me
with an uncanny desire
to observe more, to rise again.