10h
I sink like a ship whose sails the waves have torn,
carrying the rust of centuries in my hands and secrets of the sunken city, shimmering like forgotten dreams.
I never knew when I arrived here… but the fish know I unravel the abyss’s blades.
I know the way back… yet I don’t know how walls are built from salt, or why the corals weep when I sleep!
I am the extinguished lighthouse cradling the dark moon’s glow,
my waves crash against rocks, each spray crying:
“Who will mend time’s nets before hours turn to sand?”
I carried the names of ancient divers on a journey to a bottomless floor,
and when they asked me of beginnings, my voice shattered into echoes flowing salt.
I speak the tongue of water frozen in ships’ hearts,
convert the whispers of seashell ears into tremors like reefs,
hear tales of tides and winds destined to clash on shores of colliding timelines.
They say, “He knows the moment waves will break before they crest!”
But I cannot stop a raindrop from dissolving into my body.
I dance with harbor ghosts in the sea’s nocturnal lab,
mix salt with darkness in a vial,
search for the meaning of “I” between a memory’s receding tide
and a blurred childhood image swimming among glowing jellyfish.
Even the map I drew of my depths morphs into a whirlpool—
each time I point a direction, I shout: “Here I began… or here I’ll end!”
The sea mocks me with a deep voice,
sends me coded messages in pearl language:
“When will you learn you’re just the shadow of a ship never built?”
I answer with a bubble frozen in the depths:
“I am the one who carved the riddle before solutions were born!”
I discover I’m alive only when I vanish.
Each time I near the deep’s secret, a thousand seaweed forests bloom.
I walk a path of shattered ships, only to reach an era
bearing the same sentence with altered eyes:
“Are you the sailor, the storm, or a mosaic adorning the ocean’s wall?”
At the journey’s end…
I wear the sea’s skin like a drenched cloak,
let my questions dangle like torn nets,
and vow tomorrow I’ll strip off every salted mask.
But…
who can shed their skin twice?
carrying the rust of centuries in my hands and secrets of the sunken city, shimmering like forgotten dreams.
I never knew when I arrived here… but the fish know I unravel the abyss’s blades.
I know the way back… yet I don’t know how walls are built from salt, or why the corals weep when I sleep!
I am the extinguished lighthouse cradling the dark moon’s glow,
my waves crash against rocks, each spray crying:
“Who will mend time’s nets before hours turn to sand?”
I carried the names of ancient divers on a journey to a bottomless floor,
and when they asked me of beginnings, my voice shattered into echoes flowing salt.
I speak the tongue of water frozen in ships’ hearts,
convert the whispers of seashell ears into tremors like reefs,
hear tales of tides and winds destined to clash on shores of colliding timelines.
They say, “He knows the moment waves will break before they crest!”
But I cannot stop a raindrop from dissolving into my body.
I dance with harbor ghosts in the sea’s nocturnal lab,
mix salt with darkness in a vial,
search for the meaning of “I” between a memory’s receding tide
and a blurred childhood image swimming among glowing jellyfish.
Even the map I drew of my depths morphs into a whirlpool—
each time I point a direction, I shout: “Here I began… or here I’ll end!”
The sea mocks me with a deep voice,
sends me coded messages in pearl language:
“When will you learn you’re just the shadow of a ship never built?”
I answer with a bubble frozen in the depths:
“I am the one who carved the riddle before solutions were born!”
I discover I’m alive only when I vanish.
Each time I near the deep’s secret, a thousand seaweed forests bloom.
I walk a path of shattered ships, only to reach an era
bearing the same sentence with altered eyes:
“Are you the sailor, the storm, or a mosaic adorning the ocean’s wall?”
At the journey’s end…
I wear the sea’s skin like a drenched cloak,
let my questions dangle like torn nets,
and vow tomorrow I’ll strip off every salted mask.
But…
who can shed their skin twice?
