Next Stop: Red Beach, Santorini: Greece

On evenings
when the grey clouds flood the sky
like a conspiracy
the waves take on that darkshine


On crests travel
like liquid black pearl
tears of the hardened souls
that mourn underwater.


Drum rolls of a thousand empires
Decend from a faraway land
Where battles are fought
For dreams not abandoned, yet.


Our footprints on the wet sand
lie motionless, listless
for the outcome, of a war
drowned in the silence of the amphitheatre.


Finally, silver of their arrows,
a billion of them start raining on us
as we lie on the sands
we close our eyes, and wait.