I Hear the Ocean Landing
 

(We went to the edge of the universe to witness my son, Gary, become an ironman while staying at nearby Smiths Beach resort, I can breathe the air from Indian Ocean on

my balcony.)

Some nights, you croon, 
others, you wail,
most of the time, you hum.

Last night, I could hear you.


The landing must be 
quite emotional.
Are you happy? Finally,
reaching your destination. 
Yet, no clapping, no laughter?

Is it just a relief? Or a surrender 
to an inevitable destiny?
 

Are you mad? Again and again
at the height of your voyage,
someone determines to obstruct
your movement. 
The shore is in your way.  
You pound and sigh,
scream till you lose your voice.
Finally, you accept
and swallow all your pride,
ripple with the flow,
trickle with the tides,
obey the tidings.

A sleepless night 
to figure out your journey. 
I exercise the breathing technique, 
counting the inhales into my belly, 
watching the exhales disappear
one breath at a time.
It goes on until I find the rhythm 
that syncs with your calling.
 

And then I discover 
your meter and beat.
Iambic? Trochee?
I realize what I hear
throughout the night
is just your breathing. 
Not joy or sorrow,
neither complaint
nor celebration.
Just pulsing along,
whichever waves,
fate,
you encounter.
 

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