And at the shore, his father stood for so long and whispered to himself " How many waves my son would have won" ?

He had long gone into the bosom of the consuming ocean,
what had happened to him ?,
everyone had varying notions.

His father said" He had gone to earn and trade, but it seems as if he is still playing in this quiet but beautiful glade"

"He has to have been born on a lucky day as only he got the chance to brave those furious waters".

His mother unto herself cried and said,
"How ? in what way I should keep my heart at peace ?
bring my son back and let me embrace him please. "

A little conscious in his endeavor had he been,
his face his fellows would have seen.

At a point, it felt as if the palm trees were tracing his trace,
having a conversation on why had he entered this kind of race ?

The sand of his motherland felt numb without his footprints,
the flowers had lost their aroma including the famous mints.

Not only his family but the ambiance turned dull and lifeless,
every hand waiting to have him caressed.

To have his homeland blossomed with prosperity,
not his life but to his people he gave the utmost priority.

His beloved had her life found in the deepest of prosaic,
weeped silently in the fields of maize.



© Swarnim Anand