Night Descends on the Shore
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I have carried a night up from the depths of the sea—
In that hush a moment past dusk,
Where fishermen’s lamps bloom faint in the distance,
Where a half-formed moon rises over an unnamed isle,
Where boats rest in watchful dreams along the strand,
Waves upon waves coaxing the world into slumber.

Remember that letter you penned, at some far shore’s twilight?
You wondered if this, perhaps, was love—
What other name could hold this tangle of thought,
This silent, nameless, unbound longing,
This daily ache that drifts in unknown corners of the mind,
That pain and solace, wonder and calm all share,
Fear softened by a gentle word of comfort,
The craving for an anchor—yet shame for seeking support,
A vastness of heart, and the easy shrinking back into self.

You wrote that the night descending on the shore
Might resemble our love—
A resting point after the sun’s fierce glare,
A stillness recognised only when evening arrives,
A hope that the shore’s lamps may soon awaken,
A yearning for stars to whisper calm across the sky.
But who can guess the ways of winds unchained?
Perhaps the air itself might slip into madness,
Perhaps storms will break the moorings of idle boats,
Drowning every fisherman’s lantern in the dark.

Listen—my fingers still entwined with that letter’s words,
I have wandered far beyond the city of colour and song,
Onto the sands, following the horizon’s silent call.
Hear me: once, years ago,
You set a night adrift upon the sea—
That very night I have gathered back from the waves,
Wondering still: perhaps this is truly love.

Riaz Akber
Australia