Drift

"This is a poem about how sometimes one feels lost. About how sometimes one can feel stagnant, and trapped. About the pain that comes from the stillness.

Personally, this means the indecision for college. The pressure placed on me to do wonderfully on the SAT. The confusion that comes from trying to be different or else no one will accept me into their school. About how I have to be the best, but I can't see anything, other than the "granite-surface of the sea", my future. Everything turns dull for me, one-toned and I bleed "violet" when another rejection letter comes back to me."


Photo taken by: Mark Mawson


Poetry by: Ambika Ram, age, location

Painted hues of violet
along the banks of granite-surface seas
encasing and smothering.
Slowly slipping,
weightlessly descending,
while staring into an eternal abyss.

Waiting, waiting, blinking a few times,
yet still waiting.
What for?
The sea waits to inevitably swallow
the entirety of the soul.
This torn soul, throbbing with angst,

Waiting to be butchered from this heart.
This heart that spills through its cuts,
pouring its contents into the sea,
rolling over, onto itself,
until it dissipates into the
cold, cold, oh-so-very cold hues of violet.

Still waiting, waiting for a touch,
a movement in the stream.
Waiting for a hint of change
to stimulate the corpse that
floats, drifts, sways into coral floor.
Waiting for a thought that is

Other than that of the granite-surface of the sea.




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