by Sarah Elizabeth Das Gupta
Breakers roll
towards wet, smooth sand.
Sari-clad figures, red. tangerine
green, bob at the edge
where the frothing lace
tongues of the waves
lick up the burning beach.
Hawkers with giant conches,
strings of glowing beads,
wander among sun bathers
buying, bargaining, bartering.
Through the clearest of water,
I look at my feet
wooed by the pull of the tide,
my footprints quickly fill,
obliterated, wiped smooth,
washed away into vacancy,
kidnapped by the vast blueness
of the sea.
Sarah Das Gupta is a writer from Cambridge, UK who has taught English in India, Tanzania and the UK. Her work has been published in all continents except Antarctica. She has been
nominated for Best of the Net, the Pushcart and a Dwarf Star<<
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