I was alone, on a beach of wonders and joy,
Sand scrubbed my ankles, holding the box
With fury, a little way inland there was the worry.
I had possibilities, and the acts of a day constructed
A few dreams that worked, and worked like a gloved hand
In distress and achievement.
I saw through my suit a parade on the beach,
The sands collected like a graph of subjugation,
No complications arose, as the flowers were just seaweed.
I looked around to fetch some seawater to rinse my head
Once more, once the accomplishments could arrive.
My helmet and camera stood in time, with the beach,
With all its sand particles, and all the strife connected with a graph.
The footprints disappeared fortunately,
With low sunlight the beach melted,
And the fine clothes were wet with western rain,
Weak pleasure resided in pleading for polite senses,
Weaker resorts were like beaches of sand and rain and seawater.
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Comments about this poem (Beach by Naveed Akram )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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