The Surging Sea


I Ëar Falastala

Mírë senda nu

I Falmali 

I ëar ëa yávinqua


Ná ëa raxëa

Húror ortarë lúne rambar



Lestaya sívë vanyat



Treasure rests beneath

The cresting waves

The sea is bountiful


But is dangerous

Storms raise blue walls

Of destruction


That disappear as they depart

Then soon


© 2020 Rahaman Writing

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"Approaching the docks, we heard the violent smashing of wood and the clanging of metal being pounded through the cold veil of white mist that hung in the air by the coast. With a sudden gust, the pale haze cleared to reveal a beast from the brine like none I had seen before or after my time on Kioshell Island. It was roughly the same size as the fishing ship that had ferried me here and was in the process of tearing apart a vessel of similar proportions with a cold fury, pausing only to fling away huge bits of debris or adjust the monstrous maw that was its shell: the living, partially decomposed head of a sky serpent.."