The gulls ( after Guardian)

 The gulls ( after Guardian)

Here   by the  rocky shore,

where poet’s creativity is  dulcet,

by the  dunes of pebbles

where urchins play hide and seek,

above the blue rim shining

where the gulls circle around,

with  their own language aloud,

grass still growing and so much

floating still by the water, seaweed

breeding  green ready for fisherman’s

culinary taste; where poet muses by the

cut thread of the kite, and the kite fritter

in air, still establishing its own independence.

From here, you move on to a different zone,

Of change, a space undefined, where you question

Origin of Birth and Death; Where man and child

are the same, or still a nameless body of void

and unspoken. Return to Nature of emptiness.