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To idle with the tides

We travel to many seasides

This time we saw a commune of fishermen

They were serving us food hot and cold

Earning their sleeping hours

I had a ‘tsunami tea’

A glass of tea textured with a sea tide

Their shops were made like circus tents

Odd colors, stranger Gods, Senile dogs

They had everything out of figure

But their food had a familiar taste

They sleep in the early hours of the day

9 am, they are off to the streets

11 am, they were riding for us in rickshaws

They carried our days longer than we thought

9 pm, they are back to the seaside in their tents

We may forgot our days, but they could not

Their nights were the residues of our days

Their days were the streching hours for our nights

I returned home, knowing nothing about them

For me, they were another opaque beings harping around

Months later, I pen down their ways

Missing their benign smiles and beaming lives