Sailing is a sport, it’s true,
but then it has a different side:
it is a pastime with a crew
crammed tight without a chance to hide.
All kinds of weather rock the boat
and very rarely make life easy.
It doesn’t help you if you gloat,
choppy waters make you queasy.
A helpless feeling can endanger
the mood of comfort when you see
the sky is darkening and stranger
and you fear a catastrophe.
In moments like these you endeavour
to cope with elements all around.
And you appreciate and savour
a bunkbed to sleep well and sound.
Sailing makes my heart grow strong
especially when winds are calm.
I effortlessly glide along,
enveloping my soul in balm.
I see the world just passing by,
its troubles stay on land.
I live unburdened and I try
just to feel where I stand.
I hear the murmurs of the waves
caressing the boat’s hull,
and the whispered wind that saves
us motor noise so dull.
I smell the salt, but close to land
sometimes a country whiff
that tells me, after all I stand
not above daily tiff.
A sailor’s joy is competition,
which is evident in races.
Then it’s not his own volition,
sports events decide the places.
But secretly his aim to win
is a somehow innate trait.
A race can suddenly begin
when he sees a sporting mate.
Then the sails are best adjusted,
the rudder, too, is moved with care,
whoever errs is surely busted,
you give your best, as it’s a dare.
You are better, you are fast,
nobody wants to be the last.
When the wind blows from astern
spinnakers are bound to be
hoisted till the next wind’s turn,
colourful, a sight to see.
The steering with this biggest sail
demands good knowledge of the boat.
If you don’t know her you might fail
to handle her, and others gloat.
And the maneuver to pull in
the spinnaker takes a good team,
especially if you want to win
the skipper’s praise and high esteem.
For lookers-on this is a show
and seems so easy, calm and slow.
Take the wind out of the sails
and everything goes still.
All motion pitifully fails
and somehow dulls your will.
A paralysing blanket sinks
on one’s mood as well,
and the troubled sailor thinks
he hates motorboat swell.
It makes the boat sway at its place
and shakes the helpless boom
Forfeit the chance to win the race
makes desperation loom.
The lack of wind stops your ambition,
but forces you to think
what could be done in this condition:
you enjoy life and drink.
Sailing is a brilliant pastime.
There’s much space around the boat.
And forgotten is the last time
you carried home a heavy tote.
You can relax, forget all sorrows
because you can’t do anything
about the yesterdays and morrows
that regularly used to cling.
The here and now demands your brains
and concentration on the water,
and when it thunders, storms or rains
the leisure spans will become shorter.
So better be prepared for action.
The weather is enough distraction.