I liked the day on the coast
when the breeze came
when drowsiness burdened the eye bags
I once wrote a letter, its content about me who loves the sea so much
about me who used to be reborn as a fish and then drowned on the shore and reborn as a human being
I do not know, the exact date I was born, that I know the coast always feels like a womb. where I was born.
in my eyes the waves are a surge
when the waves break in the reef, the foam will be thrown in the air
when it breaks, my feet are wet. I like my feet wet and salty when licked.
I love the way the sea gives pain and announces pain. the sea taught me how hard the waves travel to get lost so foam. can a sincere business accept itself as a secrecy?
but I think the foam is not in vain, froth is the fruit of love waves on the rocks, on the sand, on the coast. then I write poetry.
my coast is the arm that spans the embrace
accommodating a homey field that goes home for an instant snap
coastal areas never tell the sea on the trees
denied the waves on the foam that spilled on the floor
I like the coastal way of suspecting safety
every one who comes, always has a way to go
any who go home, will come the reason to go again
when the sky has changed
no longer blue but golden yellow
God will award the sea of his shadow as a blessing kissing the lover's feet
coastal, blue eyes
straight-tracked anxiety
scored
no one knows better about the grief on the waves
and waves on the sand
on a rotating market wave
on a trail that is not sufficiently drawn with lines
I guarantee the sand prayer
prayer reef
dark prayer that slowly descends the image
split sound
anxious sea on the coast has never subsided
the effort of the waves to go home never shrink
then I know, I want to be a fish, not a fisherman.