A handful of roaring sea
I fear the roaring sea
And again
I love the roaring sea.
It was wonderful to see the setting sun
Over the crimson waves.
The sea was advancing towards me.
A mendicant was also advancing towards me
With a kamandalu, a water-pot, in his hand.
I got badly scared.
Badly possessed by the fear of my infant days
Fear from the baby-snatchers
Who used to sacrifice babies
At the altar of the goddess Kali
Or at the foot of the bridge
As an auspicious act
For propitiating the ground work.
I held my breath.
I stood motionless.
The mendicant did not care
To look at me.
Soon he was a mere dot on the horizon.
My fear was gone.
The sea got furious.
But I was not all scared.
My love for the roaring sea came back
To soothe and please.
I picked up a shell from the sand
The shell built, we are told,
On the nano technology
And I held the shell in the cupped palm of mine
The shell that holds
With great care and allegiance
The roaring sea
In its bosom.
And if you care
To heed or to listen
Just lend your ear.
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