Poseidon

Farewell. I have to walk away.
A restless soul stuck in between.
I cannot promise you to stay-
So let me go. Don’t intervene.

Above — Poseidon, cold and proud.
I am his storm, his wild design.
No throne I seek, no cheering crowd,
Just hear the sea - its voice is mine.

I’m not a port, a shore, a stay.
I’m just a wound the tide can’t seal.
A drifting shroud, I float away-
Nowhere to go. No right to feel.

Not born in womb, but born in tide,
Where chthonic storms in silence groan.
Where waves have lost the will to guide,
And azure bleeds through stone on stone.

The ocean sings of things unknown,
While earth is dust and rusted shame.
So how could I fall down alone,
And trade monsoon for breeze and name?

Why build a pier from stolen light,
From ashes of another’s flame?
I bear too many truths to write
My peace in stones, or carve my name.

The masts are gone. The prayers are ash.
The stars fall down in silver rain.
There is no rhythm in the crash,
No meaning in the thunder’s pain.

A breath. Amid the war — a hush.
So faint, it barely takes its shape.
As if through centuries of crush
A voice had said, “You are not my hate.”

But silence burns beyond the fire
That once lit up and razed the lands.
A flame may kill — yet still inspire.
But silence tears with open hands.

No face, no hand, just sheer control—
But still, I feel it strike my mind.
As if a current through my soul
Beats in my veins, and keeps me blind.

Rage is a road — not death, nor cure,
A spiral carved from smoke and scars.
Its end’s not peace, but something pure-

The mercy in her open arms.

And though the storm broke into salt,
And vanished with the break of day,
It did not burn. It had no fault.
It simply… gave itself away