While I have found in the withered stone
a lasting voice that have spoken in length
about the storms of the self,
I have acceded to the heart a broken rhythm
one that sweeps in a moment the frosted fury,
and I can bag a burden back to its query.
No trouble to rear in my lulled mind
when I have found feats undying in the heart of mine
where I put to rest and wreaths can find peace confined.
In questions inclined to offer about
doldrums dream of sailors, hung off the hull,
a chance to inquire into the stillness of the sea.
Culled into a niche, a breath born out of thirst
reads away the clouds called upon in search,
of the stories of the ships who send their wish
of the time they dream in the stalled lives
of their families left behind
and the vacancy they seam into their long eyes.
I can rub my hopes against the vision
to deliver unto them a song they can comfort
and together one day maybe we can rhyme
a picture present to the coming times
to hall the voices that commence to ruin
the strange stills one sees in minds.
© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2017