Upon the brinéd tide he strode, A merchant aged with sea-borne lore, His galley hewed of cedar wood, To Phoenicia’s quilted, shining shore. From salt to silk, his path was steep— Where foam did roar and tempests weep. A cloak of stars his compass wrought, With jaded hand and Roman pride, He bore the goods that empires sought— Fine fabrics dyed in crimson tide. The coins of silver, bars of gold, In chests of brass and iron cold. The oud from distant wooded hills Where Druids kept their mystic flame, Its scent did haunt the ocean’s chills Like whispers of some ghostly name. The Tartar relics wrapped in moss Held secrets lost in ages’ gloss. His vessel groaned through Neptune’s spite, Where Triton sang of sunken fame. The moon was pale, the stars alight, As thunder cracked the ocean’s frame. Yet steadfast stood the merchant bold While tales of silk and fire he told. The storms did break, then yield to glass, Where skies bent low in solemn bow. Across the straits his ship did pass To where the desert kissed the prow. The coast of East—a hallowed door— Where caravans and trade did pour. He docked where Roman roads did end, Where silk first met the soldier’s hand. And merchants bowed and did commend His offerings from distant land. Coins clinked like rain upon the stone, As oud’s rich scent through market shone. The Phoenician threads of violet hue Did flutter in the desert's breath, With amber reds and ocean blue Like tempests twined in woven death. They bartered swords for golden lace And tales of battles, lost in place. He spoke of Tartaria’s shattered keep, Of watchtowers lost to rust and thorn, Of relics pulled from ruin’d deep And scrolls where ancient vows were sworn. The lords did trade with widened eyes, For ghosts that never truly die. No kin awaited on the shore, No hearth nor child nor loving grace. His bond was with the ocean’s roar And merchant’s pact of shifting place. He'd dock, he'd trade, then bid adieu— A phantom borne on tide and dew. Now Roman roads grew faint and gray Beneath the stars he once did chart. But still his sail cut through the spray With gold and fire within his heart. The Silk Road gave him wealth and lore— The sea returned him evermore. So west he sailed to lands unknown Past coral reefs and island gates. The ocean was his flesh and bone, His soul the hand that beckons fates. And all who saw his ship would say: “The merchant sails again today. O.
