While four hauled on ropes
with all their might to heave
the vessel the rest of us pushed
as hard as we could for her to slip,
over rolling wood stems of nearby
centenary trees, cylinder boles cut
collected and positioned neatly
on the beach. Feet sinking in sand
scorching skin for what could have been
the last time, ingenious procedure
to thrust the mended old ship
at sea, once more to sail where winds
would blow her, hope would lead her.
Little did we know the two would take
us far into nowhere abandoning tars
to the mercy of blistering quiet.
No gale no direction other
than sudden calenture affecting
all the crew the captain miles
away from any coast under
hallucinogenic revelations
delivering abreactions
unexpected introspection
resulting in acquaintance
with self. Until storm was greeted
with joy mouths wide-open
like kids sticking tongues
out to seize drops of unsalted
fresh water after seven
days of compulsory rum
depletion. Invigorated a new
battle introduced its imminence,
waves as high as ancient temples
were the rival faced
while lowering sails to survive
unwilling to surrender yet
searching for land
through reluctant batting lashes until,
the last billow we saw captured
us and closed our eyelids,
to eternity.
[Featured painting: Ship On Stormy Seas by Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky, 1858]