Permanently Crocked Poem by Kewal Paigankar

The ferryman waits on board
For the final voyage
By the battered vessel
Permanently Crocked.
It belongs in a museum
Its hull bearing the scars
Of many heroic battles
With raging, tempestuous seas
Often in gale force nine winds.

He has an uneasy premonition
Watching the passengers climb on deck;
The boat may not return
As it sets off from Southampton.
He begins to shiver and tremble
As he recalls
How it was tossed and thrown
Like a paper cup in a storm
Feeling the force of Poseidon
On a night without an end
Till calm returned in morning
And the boat, in terminal pain
Creaked and groaned
Like a beast, mortally wounded.

How the wind howled that night
While the sea unleashed its full fury
On the decrepit vessel
That dipped and rose, time after time
In all its ancient dilapidated glory
While the ferryman struggled to keep it afloat.
Even as the mast threatened to break apart
He saw a dark figure at its apex
Wearing a hooded coat whose sleeves
Were lined with the screaming faces
Of many hundreds of dead souls…..

Despite the repeated drenching
He stood tall, erect and dry
His coat crisp, his laughter clear
His eyes luminous and bright
Casting a preternatural light
Outside the ferryman’s cabin
To help him steer a straight course
Till the sun rose
At the crack of a still dawn.


Defiant but bowed
For the Permanently Crocked
It is now journeys end on its return.
For the ferryman
A reclining armchair, pipe and slippers await
Until the sound of footsteps
On the gravel driveway.
Once men like him sailed the seven seas
Now they are redundant relics
Shell-shocked out of their heads
With a haunted look in their eyes.