by Jasmin Nyack
O Ocean,
Who knew this land before it knew people,
Before the land knew the misery of exhaustion—
Do you miss the way it felt,
To protect its weight?
I know of the tsunamis that swept these shores—
People forget we were yours first.
Not the city we made,
Or the burrows we dug.
Those sands we curse—
They are caresses left behind.
Ocean,
I stand here,
Both of us a storm of memory
Of power
And loss.
In your tide,
Sweet and low,
I feel the tug of memory—
Of ancient days and quiet ways,
Like a song I was almost told.
Jasmin Nyack (she/her) is a poet, storyteller, and time-walker whose work weaves memory, myth, and the emotional weight of inherited histories. Rooted in reverence for ancient voices and the echo of sacred landscapes, her poetry explores themes of grief, belonging, reclamation, and ancestral dialogue. Drawing from traditions as varied as Mesopotamian laments, Hebrew psalms, Tamil lyric, and Vedic hymns, she creates work that feels both carved from stone and spoken through the body.