Arabian Knights

Words and illustration by Chris Irwin

The sea, like a churning endless bowl of Quicksilver,
Catches the moonlight and boils it beneath.
Towards the shore. To ward the shore.
Primordial under the half-moon,

tilted bowl-like on it’s side,
It sends a shimmering road of molten light,
Towards the shore. To ward the shore.

Waves heave their bulk against the land,
Softly blue foam skids to kiss the land.
Towards the shore. To ward the shore.

Cliffs lead down to the beach, palm fronds black,
Against the blanket of stars.
Towards the shore. To ward the shore.

Ghostly clouds gallop on the Arabian horizon,
Clad in moonlight armour glinting,
They wheal their horses rearing.

The lanterns of the fishermen,
Signals of orange, winking the waves.
Towards the shore. To ward the shore.

The Sorrocco, it’s energy spent, kisses my skin with thick lips.
It carries the salty tang, the sweet intoxications
Of the tropic flowers, mingle on the cliffs.

Once, Krishna trysted Vishnu as Mohinni here,
Where the surf loves the shore.