I do not know how to swim, yet the sea calls to me. I sit on the shore for days and years and let it watch me. It is peaceful. There is calm and there is chaos, there is violence and serenity, there is perfection and coarseness, there are pieces of paper that float on its coloured waters. They are sometimes blank, sometimes with a word, sometimes pictures, often they hold more wisdom than all the books in the world, sometimes they are the little boy's toys, sometimes they find their way here.
They are still
wet from an alien
downpour –
these slippers,
chappals, sandals –
the simple sound
of the falling rain
beating upon this muddle
of languages.
They are far from home –
these slippers,
chappals, sandals –
away from the noisy streets
of home, the heat,
the dust, the green
tree-tops back home.
posted by peter pan at 2:46 pm
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