The first officer awakened, and ran to the bridge— Pushed away the person holding the telegraph, And broke it to the point of ‘Hard-a-starboard.’ The workers trembled and collided With the command and tried to fight with fate. The helmsman suffering from palpitations, Watches—his eyes forget to blink, In minus-degree-celcius, the sweats come down. “Turn right—turn right—turn right—turn right,” Some said, some prayed, some thought, some accepted. But the turn proved to be too close to save— It crashed and drilled through the life of the night, Just enough to mark its name in history, The voyage to New York stopped just in sight. The people came out complaining about sleep, Yet they didn’t know they had given eternal slumber. Just when they were quarrelling over pickpocket, The officers took out the blueprints from the locker. “She shall float,” the architect said, but stopped Just when others held their breath. “How much time?” the captain asked, motionless. “An hour, or two, at most,” the architect concluded. They looked at the sea—two thousand’s presence, Yet the ship journeyed alone that night, when No one would know if it were to shout. No one. ... Read ‘Titanic (1)’ first in my profile and then read this one.