Alone on a white starched sheet, intravenous tubes dripping some dewy portions into me, a ventilator infusing the life into me and a beep to show that I was alive. I have been here in this comatose state for many days. I hear blurred voices and masked faces flitting by. I yearn for a soft touch,someone patting my head or just holding my hand.
My mind never sleeps. I go back to places and reminisce about the salty gusts of air caressing my skin on the sandy beach. It made me feel free as it blew away all with it. I remember my dark rubbery wellies and two others that used to make footprints on the dark wet sand. And it was a play,taking them off,scooping out wet sand with bare hands,filling the welly up and turning it upside town!
Voila,we had a perfect tower. And painstakingly,three pairs of hands would carve out turrets,arches and windows of a regal castle. I was the lord of the Manor!
But a turbulent wave,rolling thunderously from afar would fall on my castle to sweep it away and washing me with its surf. I would fall down but those hands held me tight.
I made so many castles and their remains are scattered in the diaspora. I may not remain but those tiny myriad grains bear my imprint.
I was not afraid of the surf. It helped me to remain. buoyant and told me to go with the flow.
I held onto that flash of sandy beach and dark wellies.
And I opened my eyes to stay afloat.