Poet- Harshita Hiya
The waves rush in, the blue of the sea turns to white as they crash into unyielding rocks,
The shore resounds with the violence of their duel, a duel of nature ever present and unchanging.
Their strife will go on.
Your mind echoes the tumult.
You, who started braiding your hair with ribbons of satin and adorning them with colorful seashells..
It took hours to pick the best of them out, wandering barefoot on the beach.
Pale Pink and Yellow.
You knew exactly how to go about it, smiling to yourself as you whispered,
“This strand over that”..
Skillfully taking in the ribbons and shells.
The beach was full of people,
Your heart, full of courage
Taking control seemed satisfying, rewarding.
You find yourself a solitary speck in the vastness of all things natural, as you stand on the shore all alone.
The silence of the night is rhythmically disturbed by the thunderous crashing of the waves.
The disquiet outside awakens, once more, the empathy of your disturbed soul. The happy music of people laughing and children shouting is no longer there to drown it all out.
The voices in your head become louder and louder,
Until they reach a note perfectly in tune with the deafening symphony of the ocean and the rocks..
Until you can no longer remember…..
“Was it this strand over the other?”
The ribbons turn to sand, and the last of its grains slip through your fingers.
The seashells become grey and brittle. You see them crack open, turn to powder in your palms.
Your hair flies open, remnants of a futile attempt to seize control of your unchained soul,
washed away in an instant.
Your strife will go on.