Losing myself in this ocean
Like floating driftwood
A piece of wood which was
Once a fallen branch of a Banyan Tree
Or a broken hull of a capsized boat
Or the pillar that held the keystone
Utterly useless now
mangled and broken
Ideal for algae and fungi
And crabs and ants
But no other point of the wood
Not even for a small bonfire
That’s because driftwood
Has no real value remaining
For it has exhausted it all
In its previous avataar
As the branch of the Banyan
Or the door or a pillar
For now, I bow to the sea
Makes the most sense to me
Let the tide wash me over
Take me back into the ocean
Between currents and gyres
Lost forever and ever
