Of A Voyage Forgotten & A Cargo Lost
To live in this ever-perishable world, an existence of dire credentials, an insurmountable torrent of grief and despair, the ever fruitless search for the panacea, is this what life is?
I used to be a boat upon this copious sea, set course upon a harbor, carrying with me a cargo of precious dreams. The wind favoured, the water soothing, the weather balmy, the voyage was pleasant. But then came the tumult of approaching dark clouds, which brought with it thunder and rain, and transformed my peaceful world into a tumulus. As the rain lashed on, the once soothing waves transformed into a shroud of death, waiting to engulf me into its very bosom. The salubrious weather gave way to a chilling frost; the wind, as if been angered, poured forth its wrath upon me. Amongst all these, I held on, thinking about the harbor and my cargo, which in this darkness became my beacon of hope. Alas! The beacon was not too strong. It flickered in these ravages and finally died out, taking with it my vision and life.
The waves crashed, the rain lashed, upon me as I stood there on that vast deserted edifice of all-engulfing water and a moment came when I could hold it no more, and I broke. Splintered into pieces, my cargo was lost. The port, so long upon which my gaze persisted, vanished into oblivion and I, now a log of wood float upon this empty sea, alone and solitary trying to find a verity to hold on to, to save me from being submerged within this swallowing bed of doom.
I have been floating for days, for months, for years, in search of a shore. I long for a company, because this lonely existence has become spiteful. I need someone who is in the search of that one log of wood that would complete his boat. I long to be complete again, to set sail, to feel the heaviness of a cargo again. To be the one to complete someone’s dream is now what I search, for I now know what the value of that precious cargo is and although I can never see them again, I can be a part of someone else’s voyage, helping to reach its harbor and who knows, maybe in search of that haven, I may upon that forlorn sea may find my cargo again which has grown bleak upon the walls of my mind as a memory so long forgotten and however hard we try to recall, they seem to appear clouded with a veil of mist.
I used to be a boat upon this copious sea, set course upon a harbor, carrying with me a cargo of precious dreams. The wind favoured, the water soothing, the weather balmy, the voyage was pleasant. But then came the tumult of approaching dark clouds, which brought with it thunder and rain, and transformed my peaceful world into a tumulus. As the rain lashed on, the once soothing waves transformed into a shroud of death, waiting to engulf me into its very bosom. The salubrious weather gave way to a chilling frost; the wind, as if been angered, poured forth its wrath upon me. Amongst all these, I held on, thinking about the harbor and my cargo, which in this darkness became my beacon of hope. Alas! The beacon was not too strong. It flickered in these ravages and finally died out, taking with it my vision and life.
The waves crashed, the rain lashed, upon me as I stood there on that vast deserted edifice of all-engulfing water and a moment came when I could hold it no more, and I broke. Splintered into pieces, my cargo was lost. The port, so long upon which my gaze persisted, vanished into oblivion and I, now a log of wood float upon this empty sea, alone and solitary trying to find a verity to hold on to, to save me from being submerged within this swallowing bed of doom.
I have been floating for days, for months, for years, in search of a shore. I long for a company, because this lonely existence has become spiteful. I need someone who is in the search of that one log of wood that would complete his boat. I long to be complete again, to set sail, to feel the heaviness of a cargo again. To be the one to complete someone’s dream is now what I search, for I now know what the value of that precious cargo is and although I can never see them again, I can be a part of someone else’s voyage, helping to reach its harbor and who knows, maybe in search of that haven, I may upon that forlorn sea may find my cargo again which has grown bleak upon the walls of my mind as a memory so long forgotten and however hard we try to recall, they seem to appear clouded with a veil of mist.