Perhaps, there are more poems lurking
inside me then whales in the ocean. As
dark shadows they pace around their
territory, ceaslessly talking to each other,
because there is so much to say, that
one life time won’t be enough for it.

Their staccato sound travels
in the water and if it reverbarates
from cliff or iceberg then it’d become
utterly untraceable and everything would
resonate in unison and even they wouldn’t know
whether it’s a question or an answer.

So the endless reel rolls further on,
squeaks and roars
all the giants of the sea.
And if the hunters shot one down,
its voice sounds until the time
when the others starts to see
that they are one less again.

Those who remain perplexedly
circle around, they don’t know
which way to go, down to the deep
or up towards the shore.