Not the whales, who yearn, to die today
Nor the walrus, baptized, by our fear
Nor the mermaids, luring, seals to bay
Nor the mystique, of the, polar bear

O’er, frozen farm, that grows, no wood
In this, endless wasteland, of my fief
Who, in cold quietude, spent, his childhood
Awaits, for the fruition, of his belief!

With my, broken canoe, beyond repair
And a week, of ration, left in hearth
I stare, at my, mother’s womb, in despair
“Why should, your children, die of dearth!”

My huskies, sigh, my urchins, cry
Faith refuses, yet, fear’s, fait accompli
His fortitude, reavows, “Never Say Die!”
Who Waits, For Driftwood, By The Sea!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra