The end of the dream

That was the end of my journey. My head spun like a fan, turning the world around me into streaks of coloured lines. The upper half of this canvas was drenched bright with crimson of the sinking day and the lower half by the dull brown of the sandy stretch. The middle part, still, was all black. Yet: sore eyes, aching heels, and a thirsty mouth confirm the reality that this is the end.

A drop of sweat left me and sank into the sand beneath. The hot sand ate it without a noise, leaving no trace behind. Another drop wanted to be eaten, but my fingers saved them. As my hand moved over the forehead, the spinning canvas in front of me re-painted itself as if the hand was a brush and the sweat was the colour. With fresh coolness in my hands, the black streak on the canvas morphed into blue. Animated white streaks embraced the blue and neatly danced into the sandy brown. It was the Sea before me.

 Suddenly, a drop of water fell on my head. It was as if the sweat that was eaten wasn't actually eaten! It trifled through the sands, travelled around the heavens and returned to where it belonged - to me. More such heavenly drops fell on my head. Now the water began eating the sand. The brown stretch was invaded by pits of darkness. As more drops fell, the darkness ate the dullness; the dullness shrunk itself. A thunder struck inside me. Now, I remember everything.

Five years before, as I was hoisted above from here on the army helicopter , I saw this scene from high above. Streaks of crimson and brown. Streak of blue with white bands merging in. Dead bodies strewn hither-and-tether. Houses broken. Pits of darkness. Cries of birds subdued by houls of half-dead people. I couldn't breath anymore. The darkness grew. The darkness ate itself. My head started spinning; canvas appeared and coloured itself with streaks of black. I sank into the darkness. I was falling free from the helicopter. The sound of the rough sea receded into silence. I slipped into a death called coma.

Here I am, at the end of my journey, alone - in every aspect of the word, out of the long sleep, returning back to my hometown. Feels like yesterday. But it's been five years now. The graveyard that was once a hometown. I hear my mother calling me from behind. Unable to breath again. I slip back into my sleep, falling free into the rabbit hole.

Thunder strikes me again with a jerk. It took me by the neck, and gave me a slap. My head was no longer spinning. The sea was calm and there was a cool breeze. The canvas was no more, I was seeing the world as it was!

Out from the rabbit hole, I smiled, looked at the sea with wide eyes. This place will once again see a mother calling her child from behind. And I will live to see the end of this dream!

In rememberance of those lives that were lost in Tsunami, 2004 all over the world