The body of an ancient sea
Completes the circuit of my veins
And tugs me when I drink at streams
And, tasting tears or sweat, I know
I should return to it again.
And in my sleep I watch it stretching
To the unconcerned horizon.
Watch, unable to decide
If sea meets sky
Or sky meets sea.
And too, the sun seems unimportant
Impotent and far away.
And rains are noiseless effigies
Of death to my myopic eyes.
And I can hear its lapping yet,
Mute, through umbilical generations.
And sometimes though, just sometimes,
Inside I feel uneasy.
And then I know the tide is swelling in.
Sitaram - (written Monday, June 27, 1966 at 1:00a.m.)