I drown days in the sea

I drown days in the sea

contrary to what you may think,

they aren't spat back on shore.

The sea is made up of days.

 

I lose them, one by one,

(watching them go with the sun)

perhaps once, I shall see my last,

perhaps

I'll be running too fast

to see it flash past then.

 

Running; all I've known.

I am still now, as I

flick stones and bathe

and lie in the sand, grateful —

I am still.

But it doesn't mean I am not running.

I am running still.

 

I am at the edge.

I am a sailor, my mind delves

into ancient superstitions.

If I go any further I will

drop

off the face of the earth.


 

The sea is made up of days,

yes,

days of all kinds but

mostly

of

longing.

 

When you push the conch to your ear

you hear

the longing

for and of the ocean.

 

It wails, it is angry, it jumps,

at times it is elated.

Strange I have run into

a being

When running away from all

beings.

 

(I have begun to hear voices,

I have begun to understand)

 

@nskyz">

Poetic License is The Express Tribune Blogs' creative writing section. Please send in your feedback and submissions to blog@tribune.com.pk