And she sailed the part of the land where there are stories untold
She unfolded her map and the waves rattled on their way to the crinkling shore
How vast the sea was, she thought, to ever come upon the virtuous journey of finding stories untold
She, the lonesome sailor of she, with the seagulls as friends and the skeletons as décor
The sharks roam the blueness whenever the past came to light
So the adventure set forth is to find the cure for the ailments— her succor
Verily, the torrents rage as it capsizes the boat to a plight
Oh, how the tides have turned, oh, the irony she learnt
The map is wet, ink is faded
Head underwater, makes her feel jaded
Salt on her tongue and spice in her tears
She remembers the thought of not seeing her peers
The shore is long, it's the quiet it brings
Oh, the lonesome sailor of she, the laments she sings
The boat is broken, the sail— tattered
The waves continue to ebb
As if they mattered
//k.u.
YOU ARE READING
The Quarantine Book
Poetry"--the stillness of isolation, the blazing aloneness, the rich moments with loved ones, and the sole solitude of the person. The rumination of a bored writer, a reflection of the months, a reaction to the silence and loudness of life. It's a methodi...
