I lose myself.....

The usually busy shore is quiet. Even the waves are indifferent and refuse to dance . They say their  song is missing, the rhythm is absent today. The silence gets deafening. I fidget sitting on the ground and with my shivering hands, try to draw a picture on the sand. It stares back at me awkwardly, asking perhaps, what it is. I have no answer. My feeble mind fails. Fingers get shaky and my palpitations seem to rise higher than a high tide on a moony night. I get up and throw a tiny pebble in the blue ocean. I want to mock at its majesty. I sneer at its blue tranquility. What business does it have to be so silent today? 

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I want to provoke it into action. 

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I am too frail to attempt jumping. So I throw a pebble instead. There is a stir. A ripple that gets wider and wider and wider till it disappears. It leaves me entranced. I stand staring for I know not how long. And then, a rude nudge shakes the stupor. I startle. What was it? Ah, the seagull. It finally caught the poor fish. The pristine whiteness of the predator seems to be a joke. It is a killer. It has no right to be so white, so flawless. But then, white is associated with so many things. White is pure and innocent, but white also stands for death. White is the halo behind the enlightened ones, and white is the ghost too. Another irony of life! 

The poor fish must be struggling hard, or it must be already gone, released from the scaly traps. 

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The seagull is flying farther away from my gaze. Where is it headed to? I follow the flight, as farther as my eyes permit. It seems to vanish, zoom out like a picture on the TV screen or like a dream within a dream. No trace of it is left behind in the alluring sky. The orange hue in the sky tells me the day is bidding goodbye soon. It seems to captivate me with its serene strokes. I can not see the painter or his brush. If I could, I would love to learn the magic of his palette. A solitary cloud floats past the falling day, as if saying farewell. It seems to move further away from the setting sun. It does not want to diminish in the darkness. As its distance grows from the sun, its proximity to me increases. It comes closer, and closer and closer till it is literally over my head. I strain my neck upwards. My arms stretch saying hello. What if I could just touch it just now? As I muse, a drop makes me gasp. It is not that cold but it comes suddenly catching me unaware. I breathe so deeply I can smell the rain coming. It will awake the ocean for sure. Droplets falling in the ocean make a melody of their own in the blaring lull of the shore. I should run, I will get wet. But I stand. I want to be soaked. Drenched like the cloud floating by. I open my arms. I close my eyes. I let the rain come to me. I care not for the ocean that stands aloof, uncaring and callous. It is the cloud, so high above but descending to caress me. Yes, it is the cloud I love. The cold rain mingles with something warm and it flows down my cheek. I don't open my eyes. I let it flow. My tears and my dreams, my failures and my victories, my friends and my enemies, my desires and my sacrifices, my knowledge and my ignorance, my convictions and my doubts - I let them flow away. 

I melt. I lose myself. I become one with the rain.

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