Guest Post : A Sailor’s Poem

I met a seafaring sailor recently. More than a passionate and insightful man, he is an interesting and genuine friend.  Edo Passarella is a National Geographic explorer, sailor and travel writer. Edo is creative in his own ways and likes to sail out into the sea in his own yacht. Once in a while at sea, he scribbles a line or two, about the wide blue expanse that lay before him.  He was kind enough to write a guest post for HOA.

I am glad to be sharing this, and thank you Edo! Guys, do drop in comments for Edo’s lines!

In the harbor tonight,
won’t swim fishes
nor you can’t see rats,
’cause the moon looks like a bowl of milk,
surrounded by millions of cats.

(In porto stanotte
non nuotano pesci,
non s’odono ratti.
Sarà che la luna
è una scodella di latte,
con attorno milioni
di gatti.)


A Breeze In Love

I just unearthed, one of my most favorite writings, and art work. For a special and obvious purpose, though it didn’t really serve the intend, this piece stands to-date as my favorite work. I hope you see and enjoy the meaning that goes behind these lines.

As a breeze on a summer day
I blew on you, on my way.
You closed your eyes
I saw your smile
Forgot the winds, I stood still.
Between the twirls in your hair
In love, I moved with care.
Even by your gesture, a slight hint
From a breeze, I turned to wind.

Each element you see in this illustration below has its significance, but then explaining it seems so lame at this tick of time.

unearthed one of my most favorite writings, and art work

unearthed one of my most favorite writings, and art work

Sex, A Love!


Whisper to you sensually
Touch with insane lust
Trickles my finger, along your curve
Passion, I see,hardens upon your bust.

Tease you with a feather
Round thy navel now I linger
Turns me on, as your tummy
Rhythmically quiver.

A bite of your lips
A hold on your hips
Gaze into my eyes
Honey, your love in south it drips.

Smoothness, your skin
Sweetness, your love within
Wildness, our passionate sin
Make love to me in music, my dear violin.

Music Of My Own Senses

My Own World

I grow deaf as innocence

Fills my polluted heart.

Music of my own sense

Begins to play its part.


It works in a different form

This world, as I now look.

Like completely off

A whole new book.


Mute opinions. Mute reviews.

Mute systems. Mute abuse.

Into this world I diffuse

It has beauties that only I choose.


Music of my own senses,

Plays to me a different tune.

And the elements of my world

They dance to this very tune.

I Trouble Myself

I look through this curtain

As you pass by,

Dubious but efforts certain

To catch your pretty eye.


Never been an audience

Always a player.

A mystery commanded my diligence

My heart, now on fire.


Is it my being or someone else

But you smile to yourself!

O! with this mystery

Everyday I trouble myself.

A Touch In Murk

The Hold



On a love-hill

In hand-held


We escalated.


She sunder her hold

While I at mirth.

And murk

She took her birth.


Now as I walk on colorless nights.

At despair I close my eyes.

And I’m fooled by a touch.

That no longer exist.


The game now played

Life, at me they smirk!

A gift, a guide, or  a hand mislaid

This touch, that fools me in murk?