Stranded On Shore’s Edge Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

The south-east wind sends scraps
of the world to my door;
distorted lamppost shapes,
ghostly hunched forms, explore
the world around me in hollow gusts.

I am an object of scrutiny. There are
in this remote place no welcome guests:
what belongs here must travel far
from almost forgotten places.

This is a murky world cut off
from the warmth of familiar faces
and habit or ritual or comfortable love.

The south-east wind sings only the driest
of songs and the small rain cannot rain down;
absent calls of birds cut deep
into empty air: nothing is where
it belongs; nothing takes definite shape:

formless sounds and shadows surround
me: it is the need to know what they are
that keeps me from leaving here.