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greatpoetry2009-12-08 11:46 pm
smithkingsley.livejournal.com) wrote in greatpoetry2009-12-08 11:46 pm
Entry tags:
Agha Shahid Ali, from 'Notes on the Sea's Existence'
(on the occasion of his eighth death anniversary today)
It pulls me to itself,
the reflection, no, not mine:
I know the water's fidelity,
its utter transparence. The sea
becomes me like nothing
else: I wear it like skin.
Who pulls me with such
ease? A dead ancestor,
a lost friend, or
the shell's hollow cry?
The weeds wrap me, like arms.
I'm pulled down, down, to the tip of the sky.
I hold the world as I drown.
It pulls me to itself,
the reflection, no, not mine:
I know the water's fidelity,
its utter transparence. The sea
becomes me like nothing
else: I wear it like skin.
Who pulls me with such
ease? A dead ancestor,
a lost friend, or
the shell's hollow cry?
The weeds wrap me, like arms.
I'm pulled down, down, to the tip of the sky.
I hold the world as I drown.