Leaving our homes in the deep reaches

We end up as empty conches washing up on beaches

Yearning to become ornamental pieces

We maroon ourselves in the mind’s cages

Where there’s haunting emptiness

Which can’t be replaced by a cups of happiness

Weighed and measured in proportion to living flesh

By mind and thought, and the senses they thresh

Through outer expressions, we paint this shell

While the inner tide waits to wash us well

And take us to the safety of the seabed

Where shells and eternity wed

The private unseen, painted eyes on this shell cannot reach

And through imaginations, we cannot beseech

The Empress of the sea whose palace is in every drop

Even in our hearts, where we can feel Her footsteps throb