................................I'm going
                    to the ocean,
     i'm going to the sea, 
I look at the waves
splashing up at me,
and feel the gentle breeze.

When over the rail bridge
on the sky autumn blue
clouds floated in cotton pieces

I longed for home.

The port light tower
and the masts of anchored ships
made me keen to reach home
like a sailor long on the sea
disembarking with dreamy eyes
thinking if at all is one home
a tender lip awaiting his sunburned cheek
or if he would retrace to the waves
and someone waiting was only in his head.

I was at Remount Road an old station
with home not really that far
and disproportionately small to my yearning.

I was making a brisk walk
and when at the door
fell into a reverie of
rail bridge
anchored ships on the port
white on the autumn blue
and the small station
Remount Road.

Our maths teacher wasn’t amused.

He solved hard problems for us
taught sincerely in the class
but the moment he held the pen
sweats would flood his palm
like a nagging rain
that his army of handkerchief
couldn’t bring any relief
with the dripping moisture
like a school of sharks
devoured our paper’s ink marks
and from the workouts already done
steps were wiped out one by one.

At those times he wouldn’t speak
only looked at us apologetic
burdened as if with guilt’s weight
for the treachery of his ceaseless sweat
that forced him to desist from anymore writing
close his pen and start dictating.

Then one day we saw him bring out a cream
his agony had reached such an extreme
with that he rubbed his palms with glee
looked he had solved a great mystery
said now this would lock all the doors
stop sweat’s pour through skin’s pores.

A butterfly
sneaking up on
a conch shell.

They’re just
looking for a
safe space.

They begin to
just curl on in.

They feel like
pencil shavings.

The conch
shell begins to
grow icicles.

It’s from just
being stuck.

Empathy and
sympathy
in a bind.

The conch
shell on
the edge.

Just poking up
out of a mountain.

A butterfly kissing
it’s ceiling.

Just trying
not to be peeling.

The felicity you feel
By using your
Friend's gift
Has another level.

The people I believe in
they stopped believing in me,
Of course it's 'cause of my deeds
I think they feel I'm good for nothing

They stopped talking to me
And I started to speak to myself,
Well I know life has to go on
Time won't stop for me

I've gotta get myself together
I've gotta stay strong,
I've gotta move on
I've still gotta believe in me.

But it's all just so hard!

~ S.G