Crashing and foaming along the rocks,
the waves come rolling to the shores and docks.
And all the while the seagulls sing,
Serenading couples on walks.
The beach vendors close shop for the day,
exhausted travelers to hotels make their way.
In the gentle breeze, the palm trees do sway,
Easing one’s mind and whisking one’s troubles away.
The Ocean is beautiful, calm and serene,
so peaceful yet with a cruel disposition unseen,
for however she is gracious, so can she be mean,
the world her kingdom, the ocean its tyrant queen.
Her wrath unparalleled, her power untold.
Songs of her fury sung since the times of old.
The beautiful goddess with a smile so cold,
hidden behind mirrors of amethyst and daggers of gold.
The Ocean is fickle; sometimes bitter sometimes calm,
sometimes you curse her, others you sing her a psalm.
Her presence may cause you great joy or qualm.
Sometimes she is the wound, other times the balm.
And scorn as you may, you need her still,
her presence more potent than any pill.
Of exploring her reaches you can never have your fill.
To return to her you’d do anything; be it hurt or kill.
This is why a man’s true love is not his wife.
Neither his favorite shirt nor his favorite hunting knife,
Nay, his love is the one that gives him the most of comfort
and strife. The Ocean holds his heart, his soul and his life.
-Surya Ramachandran 2 ‘A’