What force is this,
That in my silent hours,
Sailing the stillness and the solitude
Distilled from storms,
From signs and constellations,
The study of the wind’s most cryptic songs—
This force, that overwhelms without a whisper
Turns timbers into splinters, sails to threads,
Rhymes away reason to make sense of nonsense,
All fraught to foam within each rhythmic wave—
And suddenly un-masked, as though de-masted
Without a rudder, no-one at the helm,
Untied from anchors, fastened to disaster,
And taking on—not water—joy and pain,
I cannot sink.
I’ve breath to see it through.
There is an ocean’s worth of storms between us,
So endlessly connecting me to you.
The map is blank; one star is lit alone.
The North embraces South, and idly spinning,
The compass sinks, like an astounded stone.
© 2019 Nina Telegina
Nina Telegina is a writer, performer, and poet. She is a storyteller with an eye for drama, absurd adventures, and unusual characters.