The hideous and heaving sea
whereon my little ship is sat
is weaving all about my craft
an undulating mat.

The gentle breeze that filled my sails
and filled my soul with dreams of speed
has flagged
and failed
and left me sat
upon this undulating mat.

But do not think that I am lost
for I am not
but tossed
and sickened by th'eternal round
of back and forth
and up and down
and not a hope on any hand
of ever reaching solid land.

So pray for breezes that will free
me from this bumping, billowing sea
else evermore I shall be sat
upon this undulating mat.

- by Prajna Pranab, 1991