In that papyrus dhow,

On restless sea, unsettled waves,

Tossing and rolling side to side,

Within defined ecstasy…

The Sire made, from a long scout,

Stickiness on the fish net,

Eventually became a second home.


Expectation above Sea life,

To last beyond another wave,

To love, to treat, to speak,

That which they do…

To pull heavy nets as norms,

Inhabited by beautiful mermaids,

Scented for purpose…

To scavenge passion.


And still back to the shores,

To the sandy bay,

Perpetual fishnet stench,

And long nights prostrate,

Moonlit clear and dark skies,

Spiced with milky baby aroma,

Roaring waves looking for their mermaid-ling,

Nostalgic stare into deep sea…


Yet another morning appreciated

With still scented mermaids again and again,

Till kingdom come.