The Borrowed Empires Poem by Sumita Jetley

The city hums, the sea replies,
Beneath the vast and endless skies.
She sits alone, a quiet queen,
Where waves dissolve what once has been.

A ledge of stone, a throne tonight,
The water glows in neon light.
No words, no weight, no grand affair,
Just wind that tangles in her hair.

And then—a voice, soft but sure,
A presence neither loud nor pure.
'Beautiful night, ' he says, so light,
Like someone speaking to the night.

She smirks, a kingdom in her claim,
'This place is mine, ' she stakes her name.
He chuckles, hands tucked deep inside,
'Strange… I thought that it was mine.'

The ocean listens, tide pulls tight,
Two strangers framed in quiet light.
Not lovers, not lost, not quite the same,
Just rulers in a fleeting game.

'And how, ' she asks, 'does one command
A kingdom made of restless sand? '
'By knowing, ' he says, 'it never stays,
We only borrow nights and days.'

The waves roll in, the city glows,
The moment lingers, yet it goes.
No names exchanged, no hands to hold,
Just silence spun in liquid gold.

And so they sit, the sea between,
Two rulers lost in something unseen.
Not meant to stay, not meant to bind,
Just borrowed empires, left behind.