Calling of the Island

 

Island

The whisper of the West wind,
On the northern coast of France;
Reminds me, it is time for coming home.
The voice has always been there,
Hidden in my heart,
The calling of the island,in my soul.

Time trespassed on my dreams,
Mirages came –
And even stole a few away;
Its roots were gnawed in foreign lands
By indifference and plague,
But never once did the shores of it decay.

I tried ignoring, it’s persistent call,
While following other paths;
Pretending at times, I could not hear.
But those journeys were not for me,
Just false Sirens on the rocks,
The true echo of the waves, were always there.

5 thoughts on “Calling of the Island

  1. VijayNair

    The undeniable pull, the”persistent call”, brings life full circle.”Ulysses , poor unhappy man, go home”, seems to be the answer blowing in the wind.Another lovely poem from the Fingleton canon.

    Reply

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