Stranded, in the middle of Indian Ocean,
Lost, confused and overcome by vexation.
We paddle our tiny raft in the middle of nowhere,
Wondering how we'll survive, how we'll fare.
All we have is our weather-beaten raft,
And a flowery parasol as a makeshift mast.
We attach our leaky life jacket to it,
Hope that its bright colour makes someone notice us a bit.
We divided the dark chocolate we brought,
Into four parts before the sky turned blue forget-me-not.
Hoping that the rationed amounts,
Would keep us nourished, safe and sound.
With the warm summer breeze blowing gently,
And the smell of the sea making us sick, ever so slightly,
We use our compass to navigate wisely,
To set sail back to Kanyakumari.
They give us hope, they make us glow,
The southeast trade winds which favourably blow.
They promise to steer us home,
From this an easy fear of the unknown.
As the night falls and the stars come out,
Silence envelopes us, except the occasional clicking of the trout.
The torch helps us keep away creatures we can't perceive,
And lights up the otherwise dark raft, drowning in misery.
We must make sure we're moving in the right direction,
It consumes us, the endless loneliness and utter desolation.
The raft must be kept steady, we must not lose faith,
For hope can make all the difference in the world, its never too late.
We're fortunate that the tide is in our favour,
And it helps us move towards the land, as we steer.
The rope, the mast, the jacket,
All look ominous in the darkness.
The chocolate looks inedible and poisonous at night,
But we hold on, braving the waves with all our might.
We wonder if anyone has seen the SOS signals we've been sending all night,
Because time is short, to save ourself, everything we must try.
And as the pink sun,
Gently touches the horizon
It brings an idea, a flicker of hope,
We tie our parasol to the end of the rope.
And let the good old summer breeze,
Take it high above the waters of the sea.
For it's flowery pattern will catch someone's eyes,
And soon we'll be rescued safe and dry.
As we move closer to the land,
We pray to the Almighty, for someone to lend us a helping hand.
With the warm summer breeze blowing gently,
And the smell of the sea making us sick, ever so slightly,
We use our compass to navigate wisely
To set sail back to Kanyakumari.
We row with the empty wooden carton and navigate with the compass,
Not letting the dreary situation burden and break us.
And indeed we are rewarded with the distant but happy sight of the shore,
Never did we feel happiness so great, to our very cores.
For all our efforts and all our pain,
Had not been in vain, over the last three days.
We were soon spotted by the local people efficiently,
Who helped us in, with the aid of the tide, ever so friendly.
And suddenly, it was all over, the worry and tension,
We were alive, surrounded by warmth and affection.
We were welcomed back to the land we dreamt of, for so long.
All because we didn't lose hope and refused to be anything but strong.
YOU ARE READING
Muses
PuisiHere's a compilation of poems for you to enjoy. You'll find a mèlange of emotions here. Some sweet, some bitter. But at the end, you'll find yourself lost in the music of words, the rhythm of stanzas and the enchanting world of poetry.
