tell me about your home, mother

-

“And I, and I, and I,” He says as he walks, hands covered in white, towards the oceans and its depths. “Say darkness! While blood stains the sky and red floods earth and its inhabitants yet touch not the ocean. It destroys, runs after each hearts fluttering upon the earth. But, oh, what about the ocean! You ask. It touches not. Why you ask? The ocean is depths, layers - you can’t contain it, I answer. The ocean takes colour as it likes - steals the blue of the sky, the green of the nature and black of the night!”

“It stretches for miles and miles beyond what your eyes can’t touch. It’s the unknown, mysterious - dreams you have wondered about but can’t comprehend. Dreams you have seen but forgot as you opened your eyes.”

“People have tried to tame it, dived in and never came out,”

“But I, but I, but I,” He says as he stands; hands bare, eyes wide open, in front the ocean and its depths, in the middle of white-stained earth.

“Beg it to take me home,”

And the ocean welcomes him home.

.

They called him ‘the mad, mad man’ and said, his ghost still haunts the lighthouse and it’s why the lighthouse always flares up, ocean-dark-bright, in winters of Purple Decembers and why the ocean floods lands. They say, he has cursed us all.

But I see a story, a legend - something to delve into and discover.

(I call him, ‘the water spirit,’)