Sinking in ink

Don't you see—
I can only write dark. 
Putting the verse in perverse. 
Sometimes I open my mouth 
to sing hymns of Him
But the Black Sea floods 
Through my throat instead—
Capsizing boats, drowning sailors
Steering voyagers so far from shore
That no siren song can bring them back.
The colour leaves your face 
When you get sea-sick. 
When you see sick. 
You'd rather navigate 
Stiller, clearer, bluer waters.
I'm blue too—but the kinda blue that disturbs your 
pastoral, pelagic perceptions 
of perfection and peace.
I'm blue too—but like an ageing bruise.
My tears, my ink leaking to create
A deep ocean I bubble myself in. 
If I could, I'd put these thoughts on paper 
Seal it in a glass container 
And let it drift corked or uncorked. 
But it's too much to bottle—
Don't you see?

Arshi Mortuza is a Bangladeshi writer who occasionally contributes to The Daily Star and is accessible on Instagram as @poetessarshi. She resides in Toronto, Canada.