Raw waves unroll on yellow beach,
the sea performs a crude sonata,
its jellyfish melt pungent butter
and seaweeds sing a pure pitch.
The skies are bent on getting rich
by mixing colours to a clutter -
pink canvas where clouds stutter
and nervous seagulls lace and stitch.
And I’m there alone and drained
but sipping freshness of salted air,
absorbing morning’s translucent paint,
among men-dolphins that do not care
and glide on water with no restraint,
and know no fear or despair.