Thursday, August 23, 2007


Off the shore at Bhimli
the water is bluer than sobbed electricity

and the wind turns, startled,
smoothing its seagull skirts.

Sitting on the beach, the fishermen
untangle the nets of their stories,

speak of lovers drowned, long ago,
in a storm - their bodies,

when they were found, folded together,
like a seashell embracing

its own private death.
Someone has set his ruined bed

afloat on the sea,
made loneliness an offering,

set white sheets swelling
on a dark unrest.

As the sun goes down, I linger
in a cemetery of Dutch sailors

their graves like upturned hulls
waiting for the tide.

Note: The fishing village of Bhimli is located about 20 kms North of Vizag along the Andhra coast.


km said...

Wow. Lovely stuff.

Even though I didn't quite relish the phrase "sobbed electricity".

Tabula Rasa said...

yes i got stuck on that phrase as well. then i consoled myself with the ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face and moved on.

rs said...

smoothing its seagull skirts?

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Anonymous said...

Hi Fal, how long did you stay in Vizag? Just curious.