A Voyagesix Decades Ago Poem by Ananta Madhavan

When still in youth I had a chance to sail
By liner from Liverpool to Bombay.
It took ten days to cross the oceanic lines
Cartographers have scored upon the earth,
Meridians of distant chorus, climes and folk.
How odd seem maps beside our photographs.

The ship was disembodied, self-contained,
Something similar to vexing crossword puzzles,
Or detective novels with plots too obvious.
It was a closed system, a sealed unit, a topic
For amateur socio-psychological research.

It resembled the prospective future I would accept;
A smoothly working framework, yet not without
An edge of hazard.Set upon strange seas,
With winds and deep currents, uncharted drifts,
The ship is like a frail bark, a paradigm of life
In a torrid universe beyond cognition.