On an Island

(It has been seventeen years since I have been to the pub with friends.)

(It has been seventeen years since I first hear Radiohead’s ‘The Bends’)

As the shark infested waters around my island paradise swim with death

I know nothing but that belief stopping me from going into the area between the shore and the coral belt that is where the crabs and little fishes play and where I lost the key to my salvation and freedom sometime in the past, at the time of the wreck.

It’s like a scratched record this tune keeps on going round and round until it gets’s to the damaged groove,

Whereupon it repeats again, again and again spitting out the same 3 seconds of recording so faintly now I can’t hear it except for the jump above the sound of the waves lapping at the shore,

My Island prison is like ice broken from the pack, its future uncertain but As I venture along the shore from time to time I learn more and more,

(For the rest of my years, I will not metaphorically, go outside.)

(For the rest of my years, I will not metaphorically, go outside.)

And I am free hopefully of the mirages that have devilled my existence for many a year, that in the shallows before the coral lies the key literally to the boat that will take me to the open sea and to a flotilla that I know of that encircles the globe!

But for now I fear even the crabs in the shallows and on my island home I am comfortable if alone except for the rusty boat that lies docked in a coconut shed, not far from my bed.

Some days I feel hope and know that before the wreck it was good in part but that was so long ago. How should I believe I can beat sorrow when I need mats that I can weave from the waste of the trees here on my island of sorrow.

Sometimes I go into the shed and maintain the launch out of habit keeping it oiled. Lucky it was here before the wreck, but then I lost the key before I grew knowledgeable about my time on this paradise land. Now it feels I am stuck in limbo amid the scratched recording again.

I could comb the shallows methodically with a waterproof metal detector that also survived the wreck and find that damn key and join the flotilla and live the rest of my life. Damn It! That’s what I am going to do!

Three years have passed and I am still here weaving mats and oiling the boat, but I still haven’t searched for the key that, I know is there in the shallows where the crabs nibble at your toes but you are safe from the sharks that swim further out.

I have made friends with a Puffin who seems lost off his migration path but who likes the crabmeat and small fishes that I cook under the stars next to my boat. I have named her Orion after my favorite constellation in the perfect sky above me.

To be continued…

 

 

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