The Sirens' Call

The hard ribbed sand pressed against his feet.

The chill of the winter’s waves made his heart jump.

The palest of moons shone softly on the water,

lighting the frivolous foam riding on the dark muscle beneath.

He heard them singing in the wind beyond the breakers,

saw a flash of long, golden hair caught in the moonlit path.

Glistening, gleaming, alluring for a second, inviting,

before vanishing into the ocean of darkness beyond.

Behind along the deserted promenade, the lights

lit grey, streets scarred by the day’s detritus.

Burst balloons, footsteps outlined in sticky candyfloss,

iced lolly sticks, discarded crisp papers, the litter of the day.

The ebbing tide washed over his toes.

He could feel the wet, compliant sand,

pulling gently at his feet, persuading him,

cajoling him to go with the pull of the retreating tide.

The iron railings along the pier reflected onto the sea,

a shadowy barrier which he waded carelessly through.

In the beams of light, white breasts appeared momentarily,

only to disappear beneath the misty spray and foam.

The water now is cold, strips of dark seaweed cling

round his legs like slippery sea serpents.

A smooth, pale arm guides him into deeper water.

He can feel lips pressing kisses on his face, his mouth.

He drifts sleepily in the freezing water,

white fingers are ruffling his dark wet hair,

arms embrace him drifting, lifting, sinking.

The dawn breaks, blushing shyly on the eastern horizon.

the sands stretch far out to meet a calm, empty sea.

Sarah Das Gupta

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sarah Das Gupta is a poet from Cambridge UK who has taught English in India, Tanzania and UK. She started writing aged 80, after a disabling accident. Her work has been published in over 25 countries in magazines and anthologies. She has been nominated for Best of the Net, The Pushcart and a Dwarf Star.