Drowned; to life.

The heart craved to travel. The heart convinced reality that it was most required. And evidently, the heart and reality were in sync. And so, the journey to the City of Sculptures began.

Volumes of sun dried sand, in humongous amounts lay blissfully, detached from its next particle, independent, graceful and unique, unmisted by the rest. The sky proud with its striking blue wavelength spread high above like a blanket with deep contrasts and light music. The rocks, brushed by the waves for years together, softened, cut-off, bruised, kissed and ever persisting. Each calling out to narrate a story, that lay safe in its cracks and crevices, reaching out to scream the story, silenced by ignorance, craving to be smiled at.
Did the rocks never leave the shore? Do the rocks never get to see the other side of the sea? Do they miss parts of them being washed away by the waves?

Do they smile now, knowing there is someone cherishing about them? Do they smile now, knowing their silence has etched a beautiful mystery? The waves hit them again. Stronger this time. Splashing against in wonder.

The waves do call upon each soul. The waves do know how to get their attention. The spine-chilling water of the sea and the warmth of the sun, were in constant struggle to nullify one another. Meanwhile, happiness crept into me. The sand deep below water, helping me walk, for swimming was yet another story, the leaps and bounds in the sand below, the uncertainty of the depth, the euphoria of the waves brushing into the soul, the sea that extended farther than the range of human vision, the sun shining against my hair, the waves embracing, as though I am magically precious. A wave. A wave. A wave. And yet another wave.
Now, there is no sun, no rock, no wave. Just water. The surface with some timid light. The human body can not take this water. I rise up, to see the proud sky again. No, not happening, the water grins. Water again. Breathlessness again. Apparently, dragged out of it. Dragged out to the bright bold blue sky. Dragged out to the rocks that want to narrate. Dragged out to the sky that likes golden-lining the hair. Dragged out to a surreal moment that elapsed quick.

One among the many experiences that I wished to be endowed with had just taken place. How beautiful was it amidst the terror of it all. How one could demarcate the moments as something dangerous or something overwhelmingly beautiful. Beautiful like the sun slowly rising perfectly positioned between two mountains, two birds taking off for the day; like the typical landscape we all grew up sketching.

Drowned.
To life.
Positively. :)


 © Deekshita Srinivas
19th January 2016