The Old Man And The Sea (To M.I.D.)

The old man’s sitting

in an ancient chair,

looking in the sea

that never rests.

His eyes are pale

and hardly moving,

they’ve seen some glory days, 

calamities in an excess.

A cup of steaming tea

to keep his fingers heated,

into mutilated of arthritis

shaky hands.

The sea is talking to him,

telling him primordial stories,

the old man learned as a boy

the language of the sea.

“Your time has come

my friend”,

with gentle murmur

the sea’s conversing with the man.

“In the beginning all was sea you know,”

it tells him,

“and in the end all things

a sea will be once more”.

The old man’s smiling,

knowingly, he is ready,

another day - a gift,

another conversation with the sea.

He knows -

the sea had turned into fish,

the fish became a man,

the man will turn into a sea

and will complete another cycle