Pebbles and seashells
wash up
on my shore—
I gather them,
string them on lines
in colors and patterns
that come to mind,
pin them to the sky
with golden clasps
and make rainbows
when the rain is gone.
© Neetu Malik
Between sunset’s fiery streaks
slipping into the sea, and
the rising of the silver moon
is my twilight zone.
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
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I love beachcombing. Your final stanza shows beautifully the fragile rays of hope you can harness. (It also reminds me of a quotation from Aristotle, who was ‘gathering the meanings of things’.)
Thank you, Katrina. In a way, gathering the meaning of things most of us do, without being aware of it.
Hey Neetu, I grew up less than an hour away from the Grand Strand of the Southeast US (Pawley’s Island & Litchfield Beach) and have so many wonderful memories. One of my favorite memories is searching for sand dollars and shark’s teeth in the surf with my daughter. Thanks for posting.
The memories are precious, Ernest. The sea offers up its secrets to us. The finds are like the memories, a treasure. Thank you for reading and sharing your memory!