The dark night had it all that needed. The fate was predestined for them. The moon was absent, mist was whispering, The binoculars were cold, whimpering In April’s Atlantic, blind in the silence. The captain, who was drinking tea in his room, Felt the lamp getting a shiver of fear. The couple, who were asleep in the porch, Dreamed of swimming amidst icy cold breeze. The prisoner, who was accused of robbing, Looked at a rat that came out from its hole. The worker, who was reading the newspaper, Heard the falling of a paddle somewhere. The musicians played violin for the groom, The bride tied her hair in a bun— The waiter asked what would they like, He said, “Give me one when it’s midnight.” In weariness, the lookout looked at the front, But the mist mocked him at his face. Suddenly, something came out of the mist, Giant in size yet calm was its figure. The lookout’s binoculars started to blur, The sea roared back at the night. “Is it”—a phrase lingered through the eyes, He shouted at the other, “Death, right ahead!” ... I couldn’t post the whole poem at once so read the next part in my profile: Titanic (2).