The Sea

there is a house up ahead
and i want to have a drink of water
and then i will have to be
on my way again, with no more water
for a week. i must drink till i drop
and i wonder if i'm welcome.

the others who've walked with me,
and given up and gone home,
or died, told of this house,
with a child, an infant who speaks
like the wisest of old men,
the child welcomes in all,
and never holds them back, but
all he'll ever ask of you is a story
for the child loves to listen
and the travellers, who walked with me,
fell with me, lived and died with me,
told me of this place in earnest
and i have made up my mind to visit him.

i have crossed a desert
i have swam no seas yet,
have seen them in the eyes of the migrant
birds,
making one last journey into the land,
never to see water again,
water as endless as one wished,
water as calm as a mind before its end,
water as vapid, and water as sweet,
and water as cunning as a murderer insane
killing on whim,
with no need but
need is not all.

the trees i see, start their long march
a few miles ahead they start rolling on past
as fast as i walk, they walk hand in hand,
towards the sea, they all want the sea,
all i want is to see, thats all,
and i'll die a happy man.

the house is the smallest shack on the smallest piece
of land; the trees make way and gracefully branch
with their branches high up pointing
with their leafy fingers shwoing the way to the boy
who'll ask of me a story. should i make one up?
i fear, mine is too glum to bear.

i am amazed at my legs. they carry me true.
more faithful than my long gone mind,
no, my mind didn't follow, nor did it care
as to what it felt, let alone what i imagined,
my mind has gone on into someone else's and
it didn't shed a tear or say goodbye,
such was its hatred for me in the last years,
but my legs hold me high,
carry me on, smoothly past the roads
past the dead, past the buried,
the hopes it trod on sprouted trees
later on, and i didn't mind. hope has left me with my mind,
and i'm surprised at my normalcy without them
and i'm surprised with the way i walk
no king, but my legs have a mind of their own
they treat me as one.

i cannot believe my eyes when the house arrives
in plain view, thirsty me begs and cries with false beggar
tears like I have before so many other such houses,
this one is no different, then why must my companions have
spoken so highly? is it the one who is in, and not the
place?
the door was open all along, or came undone when
i thought my last thought before entering
the sea was what i craved and the door creaked as
if nodding in approval to a password all of us knew
but not when it was needed. it came to me
as i was thirsty,and the wood is thirsty and
the trees are thirsty but they draw the sea from
under my feet. content to drink without seeing the water
i am not so much thirsty in thirst as i am in thirst to see
the water with my own eyes and then taste.
seeing is always the way to feel.

the boy is no infant as i was told. he has grown from the
last time the travellers must have seen him, or heard
from the nameless wanderers who have diluted
our race's heads with legends much like this boy
the sea the boy are legends i bet on to be true,
and one of them already arrives, can the sea be far?

i mouth the word 'water', and the boy nods his head
waits. my thirst is suddenly gone. 'how?'
'i do not know'. 'my wishes are with you who Walk,
and whatever you desire will be yours
if you are here, and as long as you are here'.


'the sea?'
alas. that is too much a desire. for he smiles and i get no sea
as i had hoped against hope when the water entered me
without me knowing. i felt like a tree then.

'the sea is dead. you are standing in it.
the sea dried up when our need to live dried up
we are alive, but the sea is what kept us happy
do you not see why the others lie about it? they come here
and i tell them there is no sea. a long journey later
almost a lifetime of toil, and i just tell them,
have no proof but i tell them what i feel is real.
the sea is dead. i tell you now'.

and then i said something i didnt want to say,
didn't say, but the words came tumbling out
when my mind came tumbling in,
it has grown so thin, has not found another soul
as worthy as mine. it wants me. i was always it's pet
and i missed it too. i don't know how long it has been with me
was it now that it returned with the words i said?
or was it afraid i might believe the boy? and
keep silent. it cannot bear my silence.
maybe it never had left.

i found myself telling him, 'i do not believe you
and the sea is just a step away. i can hear it. it calls.'

my mind is back. withered and worried i was,
but now i know just how much, once its back.
the sea is not far. I believe it is near.
belief will take me to a long dead thing. belief
will keep alive a dead dream.

the boy nods. 'yes. the sea is very much there.
you are the one who believes and you cannot go any further,
i will not let you'

and i do not believe myself when i say i do not want the sea
anymore, now that i know it to be so near. i tell the boy
that i would like to tell him a story.

and the travellers were not wrong. the boy became a baby child
who smiled when i told him of a story i'd like him to hear
and i sat down, the boy on my lap,
time has run away today, and the marching trees outside
murmur of the sea in the breeze and cool me.