from its depths we came
and into its depths
as dust or ash we go
in its every drop is a history
lives that were and those that are
and in this time of going and gone
of sweep and search
our primordial sorrows rise and fall
roar and crash
in pitiful and pitiless echo
of abundance
of poverty
in and out of brine,
with and without tear.
Malinda, this sounds like prose and not typical "Malindic Verse'!
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