The Sea Poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska

It is very early morning,
the days growth is just beginning.
I am already at the sea shore,
My favorite sea which I adore.
An early morning mist
Hides the ships on the road,
Waiting for their turn to be unloaded.
The rising sun breaks the dawn
and at last the mist has gone.
The caravan of the sun rays
runs quickly on the seas’ surface.
The sea shines with silver and gold,
It’s a hold of different sounds
which are the compounds
of the seagulls cry telling hi,
the splashes of the waves
loving to make new caves.
The warm breeze is so rorty
and the seagulls are so naughty,
they dance over the sea, they dabble,
the sea is their cradle,
they shout, they fly,
touching the sea and the sky.
I swim towards the sun.
It’s such fun to watch the waves run.
The sea licks all over my body
as I am a lollipop.
Finally I stop, wanting to dive,
I know: the sea is alive.
I want to learn its inner world
where everything looks purled.
The birth of the Earth was inside,
so many secrets the sea might hide.
I come back and lay on the warm sand,
feeling the pulse of the land.
I listen to the sea song,
it is so beautiful and long.
I fell asleep but not so deep.
My dreams go far,
they have no bar.
I swim, I dive, I fly,
watching the sea from the sky.
But…I suddenly wake up
because of a horrible scream,
that is not part of a dream.
Where does the noise come from?
Oh, yes! The petrels foretell the storm.
They proudly hover over the sea,
they can foresee the gale.
And really, like in a tale,
the sea immediately changes,
each wave ranges.
The waves become higher and higher,
they would like to inquire:
Who is so brave?
We can be your grave.
The sea!
Heavy wild and mild,
Severe and tender,
it can surrender.
The wind moans,
the sea groans,
it looks horrible and angry,
like a gray haired woman,
an old woman sending a damn.
But the sea is free,
And the old woman grumbles and stops.
After the heavy rain drops
the sea again becomes calm,
and again it looks like a charm.
The rainbow appears in the sky,
the seagulls joyfully fly.
Slowly the day comes to its end,
over the sea, over the land,
showing the beauty of the sunset.
But I have no regret.
I know there will be another morning,
There will be another day growing,
There will be more of the sea whims,
There will be more and more dreams.

Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)