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