Whales

By Rohith

In the wee hours of morning
when I wake up with a start,
I think of whales, their enormous
bellies and infinitesimal fins.
I think of their immense bodies
calmly rowing their way through
silent waters of eternity. Those
wingless whales moving like
clouds or huge balloons in the
fixed skies of small hours.
I think of their dreamy slowness.

In the wee hours of morning,
when I wake up with a start,
I become a whale, floating forever
in the massive fluids of time;
all alone, ancient, in the mythical
quietude of a different era;
When I wake up with a start,
heaving enormous sighs, melting
icebergs in chest, a whale, reaches
the surface in a different ocean
at the other end of the world.