Wonder why while picking shells
Cradled by the soothing sound of waves
My pupils dilate to juvenile gleefulness.
The sight of such detail galore excites
My senses afore every shape and line,
Dots colours and spirals elegant adornments
To my neck, on a chain of silver holding
Faravahar. I, a primitive at a primeval market
Under the sun until I stumble upon a carcass
That of a crab. Naturally creative images
Over a missing body spark my dismay,
Saddened for the death of a crustacean I
Wonder why while picking shells am I oblivious
To the departure of their previous inhabitants,
Whereas an exoskeleton is suddenly capable
Of muting my joy.
[Featured photo: The exoskeleton of a crab, Thailand, 2019]