Sojourn

By Ishan Bhattacharya

Atop your ship the high sails flap as black clouds start to dance,
Great beams now crack and cold wind snaps, your departure will be soon,
To Scylla’s maw and Charybdis draw, by towering waves consumed,

On an olive tree nest nevermore to rest, no home return for you,
To banquet hall where lechery crawls and prowls from room to room,

Your valor spoilt, your riches gone, your clothes have turned to rags,
Your men are cleaved and torn apart by giants, beasts, and hags.

Rue the day of your depart toward conflict not your own, it was never for
you to feel the warmth of fire, hearth and home.

Why do you still venture on, oh hapless hero of old?
Is it not better to drift away in lotus blissful hold?

But be deaf to the ringing and sweet, sweet, singing of loss within your ears,
Let wisdom guide your very path and your troubles will be cleared.

For next time that you are harassed by sirens of your woes,
Remember now and always still, it is just flesh and bone.