Empty Bags That Fill The Skies Poem by Sami Gjoka

Then I see him rise above, yet again he disappears
Never drown, never gone, from my painful memories.

His bare feet still bleed and cling to the poky, edgy stone,
Trying not to slide and sink,
Under sprinkled white foam.

Still I see him, standing there, so lively, so real
With his extending hands, coming skinny from his sleeves
Picking oysters, picking clams,
Grown, scarcely, underneath.

A bag, fully, not yet filled, held by fingers, firm and tight
All of a sudden snatched away, by the ocean’s angry might.

And from very far away
He is laughing back at me
Laughs at me and my attempts
To find him below the sea
And to all the empty backs
That are scattered underneath.

I have gone in many places
Traveled beyond many seas
Yet erased are all my traces
No deed ever reached my dreams
Since I sunk into this sadness
Since I lost my calm and peace.

Since the day, I left weeping
All I see is but that shore
Where hell and death is screaming
Above ocean’s mighty roar.

Coming from every direction
Tides of horror, release hell,
Thirsty as if monster leeches
Sucking humans from their shell.

Then I see him that keeps rising
From that shore to everywhere
Above tides he keeps on laughing
Laughing at his empty bag
Like the bags we live at, dragging
Ourselves to nowhere

There will he stay forever
To that time we can’t reverse
From this earthly bag, departing
To claim the whole universe.