The conch poked and prodded bursts
Into multicolored fragments
Startling the gulls into
Bewildered flight

The beach cakes my insides
Hand and foot and head and heart
In the sun’s heat it turns to glass
Splinters tear my mask

Loneliness fits like a glove
It rubs like sandpaper
On my sense of self and us
Gradually we erode

Ideas like octopus arms
Multitudinous waves forth
But are concealed by
their own black inky mist

the waves rise and fall
unaware and unconcerned
but we too frail too unimportant
in the larger scheme of things

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
01.01.2013
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish