Sunday, November 15, 2009

Mysterious Silent voices

Beach sceneImage via Wikipedia
The sea is a wonderful place. Among all things natural, it is the only one which speaks the language of poetry so consistently, even in its anger. I love listening to waves rolling silently onto the shore, crashing in a desperate fall onto sandy beaches. Their wailing laughter that flows along the edge of the lines that they leave trailing behind is more beautiful than human laughter. It has an elemental wisdom in it. I love it, but I am just another lunatic loner.

My friends are a boisterous group. When they are around, you know they are around. The laughter whips all around you like a typhoon that won’t die down. All you can do is laugh. When the trip was decided I was just another addition, but soon I became a part of it as much as everyone else. Where I separated from the trip and took my own journey, I don’t know. Maybe it was when we decided to walk down the rocks nad not on the cement pavement. Among the crows and pigeons dining in mushy sludge. Among the mounds of rotten flowers with stinking breath that the sea vomited back onto the shore. Among crying waves that despised it new master – man.

We passed the desperate sights with a hurry; Much like the homeless lovers, sitting on the edge of the pavement, sitting in temperamental love that holds them together for now. We hurried and moved to different paths. We reached the beach and played on creamy sands. We built castles and narrated stories. Rousing stories some of them, life experiences and struggles. I realized the punitiveness of my troubles in comparison with some brave souls, their laughter hiding their own sorrows. Sorrows silent within their hearts, wanting to speak yet unspoken in its self. I listened, not uttering a word. I did not know what to say, not if to say anything would be right. When the stories got a little too much to handle, we turned our lighter hearts homeward. But my heart was unwilling.

When the night ended, I sat again at the corner store with a cup of tea. The rain had started once again and was falling with a silent murmur. No voice stirred, other than those of weary hearts. No cry heard, other than that of souls apart. I sipped on my tea and lisetened. I listened to a familiar voice. The sea had followed me home. I heard it speak . It spoke of sorrow and death, love and laughter, joy and liberation. But most of all, it spoke of silence. Silence – that was kept by so many secrets hidden deep beneath its belly. Drowned like the million ganeshas, to accumulate a million more next year. When it had finished, so had the rain. The day was on the verge and night on the wane. Silence reigned.
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