A Hope for a Lighthouse
It’s been years since I started this voyage,
Sailing among the currents, I’ve reached this far.
From where I am, I see no trace of land,
I am all alone, in a meadow of blue waves.
I started this voyage, with so much optimism,
With a naivety so vast, the oceans were tiny.
Battered by waves, and many stormy nights,
I am now scarred, with skin burnt by the winds.
Sailing all alone, I liked the comfort of the dark,
For it was gentle, and it hugged me like my mother.
And it showed me the stars, and their many tales,
A welcome escape, from the salted reality.
Should I call myself weak? For accepting the hug,
I got quite attached, to the escape so much,
That I stand helpless when my nights ruined,
By the storms and waves, and the night’s cold fury.
In the calm that follows, I remain in tatters,
Barely surviving the storm, grappling to any support.
I felt thirsty and searched for some water to drink,
That’s when the ocean, taught me what irony means.
Was it my fault? For my sail to be odd?
With so much conflict, yet it moves on!
I often feel envious, for the fare journey others have,
They do have hardships, yet they reach the shore.
How many times, can I search within me?
To scrap the remains of some hope that is there?
It’s hard to sustain, a burning fire against the wind,
Let alone the embers that are lingering for long.
Every night when I sleep, in the cold dark emptiness,
I hope for a miracle, and I hope for the winds,
I hope for strength, and I hope for wisdom,
I hope for the shore, and I hope for a lighthouse.