My Wandering Mind

My mind drifts often. It floats around clouds, peeking through the cotton like substance. It dives under the deepest oceans, searching for nonexistent beings. I see ships rusted underneath the black depths of the ocean. The ships, once an abode to men who had tiger-like hearts,is empty. Well, I wouldn’t call it empty. When I step on the saggy wooden floors, I see it all around me. Jugs of rum and baskets of apples, seagulls roaring around, mice chasing each other, while the men gather around with stories of mermaids and lost treasure. I can smell the salty sea mixed with the reek of unwashed mouths. I can taste the sea’s salty breath, and feel the ever approaching death. The distant sun slowly sinking under the deadly ocean, reminding the ignorant men that they will too sink under the ocean. But the men do not care, too enthralled in stories that do not exist. They dine and drink, bully then sleep. They do not care. 

But the ship creaks and moans- it’s on it’s own. The waves beat and it is too scared to drift. I see the ignorant men piling up at one side of the gigantic boat, waiting to see if the sea monster’s approached. No, it has not so what’s causing the ship so much harm? Fear run through the tiger men’s hearts. Memories of wives and daughters and sons float, whilst the poisoned men dread of lost treasure which will lie lost forever. 

And now, I run around the ship who has sunk. The walls designed with corals and seaweed, it is now the home of fishes and sharks. I am no longer at ease; I see sorrow wherever I tread. The cries of the dead seem to scream out from the walls still. My mind does not allow me further; the woe and regret hanging around seems to frighten me. 

Should I tell you more of my journeys? I once went to the place where dead people sleep. They are at peace, do not worry. I couldn’t speak to them but their mouths uttered their loved ones’ names. They were mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, daughters and sons, grandmothers and grandfathers, friends and foes, I believe. Well do not worry, I tell you again they are at peace. When I cross their heads and touch their faces, I can tell. They were wronged, yes. Lost their breaths to human cruelty, mechanic failure or desperation. My mind scares me sometimes with all the journeys it makes. 

But think again, I do live a hundred lives. I live with sailors, and I live with failures. I live with mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, grandmothers and grandfathers, friend and foes. I live among the dead while I live among the breathing. My mind is a wanderer. It drifts often.