wanderer

Coff-sea: An experience worth sipping

While scurrying the shadows of yesternight’s dreams, daylight ran into the eastern sky. It’s glowing skin diffused in the dark void, gradually illuming it.  The half-opened window ushered in a first few editions of the sun’s grace, cased in a golden tint. They perched on the stale wrinkles of the white bed sheet.
Meanwhile, hiding from the intense glare of the stereotypical morning, a bundle of white mist hurried out of the white mug, and concealed themselves behind those folds on the bedsheet.
Casting a half-hearted smile at these intricate shenanigans, his hands clutched the handle of the white mug. He mind was like a bird wearing a broken wing. It quested to glide to far off places, yet the shackles of reality tied him down to the ground.
Unaware of themselves, his lips touched the threshold of the mug, that his hand had lifted up to them. His tongue rendezvoused with the content in the cup. His taste buds were flabbergasted by the unusual flavour, that they were soaking. It was not the conventional bitterness of coffee. Rather, it was salty.
His nose was bamboozled as a scent similar to that worn by the sea, encompassed it. His brain didn’t know what to think. It tried to refute the salty taste and blur the sea-like aroma. But his mind, it was was a bandit in a crowd of obedient organs dwelling under his skin. His mind was a nemesis of his brain.  His mind embraced the appearance of the sudden scent belonging to the sea and the saltiness that ruled it.
It was now for his eyes to peek into the white mug. They threw a casual glance at the mug in anticipation to spot a dark brown liquid. But…
What was this spectacle that the white mug presented? It wasn’t the brown complexioned liquid! Playing in the confines of this glass mug were the bestial waves of the sea. His pupils dilated as they absorbed an inkling of azure from the sea that lay in front of them. 
A ripple of wetness lashed against his mind, loosening the shackle of compulsion that kept it down. The broken wings had healed. The bird was finally ready to delve the depth of its deepest longings. And its heart was prepared to grab a speck of reality from the crowd of mirages.

We have been stranded in our home all across the world for over months now with nowhere to go and nothing to do. So this post is dedicated to all those crazy wanderers or vagabonds out there whose O2 (oxygen) has been cut off. Having the first sip of coffee can sometimes taste different and who knows it might be the sea waters or the waves breaking on the edge of your cup. Impossible is nothing. Close your eyes and feel the breeze flowing past you or the sudden gust of cold mystic wind blowing away your hat. When you can’t visit the shore, bring the sea home.

rustleofleaves89

Anonymous

I am a red flag that has fallen off its plummeted castle tower. I am an abandoned queen wearing a headdress of shabby grandeur. I am a havenless traveller standing barefoot in the sandy bay.

And most importantly I am someone like you.

And the broken tower of my castle lay at the foot of the raging tide, cocooned in fear of being stamped.
Pitying the sorry state of the broken structure, I stared at the wave. It was disassembling the magnificence of the sand edifice. Inch by inch.
Within a few seconds, I was looking at the void where the nearly non-existent remains of my sandcastle sloped. Close by, dabbed in white foams, the layers of sand did their best to conceal the cadaver of the dead wave.

I smiled at the subtlety of inevitability, echoing from the silenced wave it travelled all the way to the relics of my castle that it shattered. Like an abandoned queen thrown out of her grandeur, I stood still on the verge of a closing day. Soon this landscape featuring the sea, a fallen castle and a dead wave would be engulfed by the silvery hue of the cratered moon.
Like a homeless wanderer, I prepared myself to move from this soon to fall apart spectacle, to the next one coming in my way.
Leaning on the revolving yellow light of the ancient lighthouse night walked in.
The sea blushed with a shade of deep blue at its arrival. It was a newly forming picture and I had just moved into it. There were no birds in here. Only one or two who flew from time to time, instead of themselves. With the darkness building deep around and within me, I groped for light. It is exactly then that I found it.

Like a crown complementing the wildness of the waves, it was a speck of bright light. It twinkled amidst the capricious wind. I was taken aback at this sight. Glinting specks of lights resemble the stars most often. But the sea doesn’t wear stars for crowns, only the sky does. Lost in such ponderings, the sudden siren of a ship suspended my further thoughts for an indefinite time.

I glanced back. The light which was as small as a morsel seemed to have dilated a little. It played on the ripples of the unsettling water, mocking their threats into dust. The bravery radiating from the tiny flickering speck was slowly threading my weakened heart to its daunting soul. The many times the uneven winds attempted to rip me apart, I harboured myself. This valour that I showcased, was not mine to brag, it was lent by this light twinkling somewhere in the mid-sea, whose origins I was oblivious of. I wasn’t even confident of its existence. It could all be a concoction of my homeless mind in desperate need of refuge. Or perhaps the light resembled a dead star, seeming to shine even after it has ceased to exist. Or maybe it was real.

But who questions the validity of her mascot? The one who saves needs no name, no race or origin. This spot of luminosity smelt of home to me. Like an ardent worshipper of it, I poured by relentless stares on that small yellow light, the light which seemed to be strolling towards me, now. Touched with new hope, an image of my new home started to be forged in my mind. And thus, another landscape was born, with the dark night, the waves, the flickering yellow light, the moon and the half-made image of a new home.

Unfortunately, this had taken quite some time, the faint light of fresh dawn stretched its arms, cracking open the dark sky narrowly. The death of this landscape was written in the hands of the dying night…

The lifeless night carried with it that glowing grain of light as it’s dying wish. And the image of my half-constructed home followed them too…

I stood there, at the edge of yet another vanishing scene, just like the time before.
In the eastern sky, there appeared a jet of red light, and with it, another spectacle was in its inception.
I realised that I belonged to none of these panoramas. I was just a silent bystander, glancing at the different scenes. I was a sedentary traveller standing in the heart of an altering spectacle.
But how long could I combat the dominant waves? How long will I fight the gust of unruly winds?
If I give in someday, making the inevitable, inevitable indeed, forget me not. I implore you. Oh, oh, but you barely know me. Unfortunately, the anonymous are hardly remembered. We seldom reminisce, somebody, when we don’t know what to remember her by. Maybe, an image, an address, a title, a vibrant memory or something of that sort, anything that reduces the abstractness.

So today on this page of wet sand, I sit to write my epilogue…

I am a red flag that has fallen off its plummeted castle tower. I am an abandoned queen wearing a headdress of shabby grandeur. I am a havenless traveller standing barefoot in the sandy bay.

And most importantly I am someone like you.

rustleofleaves89

Abstract

18-04-2020