On a sun baked plateau, infused with the hue of stained blood and brown bread, caressed by the waves of the immortal spirit, which waltzes with seaweeds.
Dilapidated shells form murals on the universe.
Under a congregation of wild, grey, smog-like wisps, the soul of the sea ascends, from the depths; pupils dilated.
The seagull's glide halts in mid-air, as the salt freezes to stone droplets, floating in the air.
The spirit obliterates the translucent cloak of reality, violent booms and turbulent surges drown the shrieks from above.
They abrade and tear the coarse fabric of the sand.
An infinite pool of molten rage along with gusts of insanity.
The sea's soul: unshackled from time and its celestial limbs.
A candle, its wick, drenched in the eternal ocean of serenity, glows with fervor.
Amidst the fire-play between the dull, threadlike masses, infested with fissures, who conjure light from below; tiny ants, scurry to depart for the other side on dinghies, the mast and hull reek of futility.
Rage flows out of the forgotten soul, like a glistening cataract, it wails, shrieks, thrashes, pounces; its piercing stare mutilates the vessels near shore.
An abyss which only emits froth, encrusted with forgotten rage, which only yearns to be leashed to life's neglected ember.
A melting candle, its wick, drenched in the eternal ocean of serenity, glows with fervor.
Aryan Shafat studies in grade nine of Scholastica Schoo, Dhaka