The Surfers Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

I sit on the beach
mending my nets
and watch the surfers
riding the waves,
leaning forward embracing
the sea
as seabirds dive
and drag life up out
of dark water.

The sun is low now
over the sea
and the surfers
mere silhouettes to me.

I wonder how I seem
to them as I sit here.

Do they make fun
of an old man whose nets
can no longer be kept
from overwhelming disrepair?

With their smiling anonymity
they wave to me – some of them –
as they come by.

But I am constantly looking
at a distant, youthful
sky,
the sun blinding
my eyes,

the figures
on the beach dark
silhouettes

as, wind at my back,
I come riding in,
again and again
come riding in…