The boat bobs with the rhythm of the ocean,
And it’s serene,
The motion mimicking that of a mother’s womb,
Calming,
Out of my hands…
But everything is out of my hands,
Because I’m no bird.
Though not being a bird means
That no net ensnares me,
It also means that I cannot fly away from this place,
Right here on this wave,
On this boat,
In this sea.
I’m no bird,
And no wings will carry me,
No adventure awaits me,
I simply sit.
Alone.