Where Ocean Learns The Shore Poem by Pushp Sirohi

At dusk the ocean leaned to meet the land,
Seven slow tides traced promises in sand;
Each wave arrived with breath the night could keep,
Then drew away, a secret taught to sleep.

The first was foam—a whisper on the feet,
The second, currents warming stone with sighs;
The third, a moon that pulled our pulses neat,
The fourth, a storm where cliffs forgot their skies.

By fifth, the shore had learned the sea's true name,
By sixth, the stars bent low to feel the sway;
The seventh—calm, where nothing burned like flame,
Just salt and soil made whole till break of day.

Not acts, but tides that knew where to belong—
Seven returns, where sea and self grow strong.

Pushp Sirohi