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Dead Reckoning
An ancient mariner in the seamless sea,
I’m sailing for ages in the intuited undefined course
in sparkling sunshine and tormenting tempest,
on the rolling timeless teal waves,
rising high to sanguine sky, falling low to onyx depression,
as my boat pitches, I toil to float in journey uncertain.
The moonless opaque nights descend
with the debris of shrouded stars on the charcoal sea,
the sky sinks in the ebony horizon, nothing I can see,
but to reach the land beyond the bleak misty veil
I need to sail determined for long and far,
lost and lone in the alien sea I scan my course for location.
I depend on the sailor’s age-old creed of confidence
to find by grand estimation where my life is presently placed,
trace a faint line of reckoning to the destination,
revealed by my prior position I’ve left behind.
The driving wind on the sagging sail is weak,
before the sunset to the promised land I must reach.
Navigating the prudent life in the dark night,
dragged by the discernment currents of destiny,
the dependable calculative compass of perception
defines the committed course I follow to be where I am.
During the span of the sensed slice of eternity I sail
from where I started with the acumen of dead reckoning.
Copyright ©
Subimal Sinha-Roy
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