POETRY

Tides Roll In

A poem

That lost notebook
of unpublished poetry
sorrowful moments
and much more
I cannot show it to
you now!

When you were floating
in the ocean of sorrow,
I was busy pulling
threads of appeasement, tomorrow.

I’m unable to find
my lost notebook — still,
new waves incessantly
roll in and out at will

of our beach, boldly.
Some stories aren’t written,
some were eaten
by the tidal moon, coldly,

suddenly —
without
any fault of mine.