Stolen Shorelines
The azure waters
Lured me to the shores
The vivacious waves
Washed me to lands unknown
And the men on the shore,
Filled my plate every evening.
Like a magician playing
With the pigeons hidden
Under his elbows,
The rolling seas cooing
hand me the corals and atolls
Shells and dreams of mermaids too.
What do I gift to you, in return
Oh, folks on the shore?
I snatched your fishing nets,
I stole your golden shores
I erase the sand on my heels
On the wall of boulders
The blue walls of your tiny houses
Crumble, and I crowd you
In dark rooms, of no relief.
I huddle you away
From the waves and my heart.
In your sleep, your heart sings
The songs of the seas.
The fury of the storms and
the saint on the shore lament,
“You are the man who give stones,
to your children
when they ask for a loaf”
Nature still has the last laugh,
For sure, it is as hard as the shore-lashing waves.
Homecoming
We meet like two names
On a page that’s written in black,
Written boldly
Ink from different lives
Two stories of two seasons
Two smudged smiles too.
One frayed and tattered soul
Clicks the latch open,
The sultry trail to another heart
Springs up in life
A little dandelion on the side
Spruces up its smile to greet you.
Come home,
‘Share my blankets, sip my sun’,
Another heart from another life says.
What more would my weary feet long for
But the warmth of a fiery heart!
Three Fifth
Three fifth of me is water,
Blue in longing
I roar in the night
Pulled by your moon
To run myself
Along your edges, frothing.
One fifth of me are dreams
My wild sky holds
A zillion of them,
Near and far
They laugh and dance
Gray and mysterious.
One fifth of me is barren,
It’s an abyss of darkness,
My phantoms guard its chambers
With swords of gleaming steel,
To slay any birds wandering in
Their wings laden heavy
With dreams and love.
The Day of Laughter
The newspaper falls, heavy
On my doorstep with a thud
Dead man falling.
I roll the dice,
Between my tentative fingers
Eager, to begin
The game of the day.
Walk on the rough waters,
Move the mountains, or
Wake up the dead.
Hush the roaring storms,
Or cast my silent nets deep,
And fish up the sorrows
Of the seven seas,
Big and small,
Shells intact or red-gilled.
The cross moans,
The Sunday crosswords of life,
It’s the day of laughter.
If you
If you walked out
of a home
A thousand times
And came back to it,
The home dwells in you,
It’s wrong to think
That you dwell in that home.
If you closed a book,
A thousand times,
And went back to it,
The book is in your heart
It’s wrong to think,
That it’s on your table.
If you told a girl good bye,
A thousand times,
And went back to her,
Every evening,
You dwell in her.
It’s wrong to think,
That she dwells in you.
Keep the home
That you run away from,
Keep the book
That put you off,
Keep the girl
That you wish you forgot,
Deep within your heart,
For that will keep you going.
About the Author
Jaya Abraham is from India and teaches economics and statistics in Abu Dhabi University. She writes poetry as the expression of her response to the world around her. Her work has been published in major online portals. In addition to writing poetry, she is also interested in green and mindful living.
