Homelands
Far in the distance,
the cold wind cuts.
Across the swell, salt sprays burst—
drenching the frayed edges of your conviction,
not a gentle melody,
but a heavy, rhythmic engine
as the gray waves come tumbling in.
On the thin line of the horizon,
the shore begins to separate
from the sky.
The pulse increases its pace,
continuously now—
like a heartbeat trapped in the throat.
Never stopping.
Rolling stronger.
The vessel slows, surges, drops again—
a vast, unyielding trance of water.
Behind waits the cold border of a map—
the quiet, devastating burial
of who you used to be,
a homeland
that could not love you back.
But the will to survive
is everlasting.
There is still this reaching.
This demanding
that a better existence is yours.
Waiting...
The unknown.
The hull grinds against the sand.
The open air waits.
You step over.
Still breathing...
beginning again.
Author's Note: I wrote this poem many years ago as an act of human empathy, attempting to imagine the pure instinct of survival from a personal perspective. It is entirely a work of creative expression and an observation on the raw will to endure under extreme hardship. It carries no political message, endorsement, or stance regarding immigration laws.
(The accompanying watercolor artwork was generated with AI assistance to visually reflect the setting and mood of my poem.)
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