Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Sailing Adrift From the Moon

Once upon a time, a fisherman asks,
in the midst of fishing at night, dusk abounds, alas,
the sea, why it recites its hymns to the
fluctuations of the moonlight, why it
turns down its volume at night.

Then, the waves went raging, and the fisherman
hanged onto his boat. He went sailing,
slashing back-and-forth, surreptitiously seeking
the sanctuary as he moves on the unforeseen
journey, on such quiet, perhaps too peaceful a night.

Pounded onto a pool of rocks, he found himself
ceasing, shuddering to only an immediate halt, and
he took a breathe to feel a relief — in his
abrupt journey. He is now afraid to ask the question
again, for he thought it was punishment from Poseidon himself.

The fear did not last long. The dark mist dissipates,
revealing the long-awaited moonshine. He stared
into the globular light; his empty-minded eyes
reveal how he knows everything is a staged voyage
in a bag of tricks — to fool people of its supposed exhilaration.

Then, fortuitously, the fish, shells, pure rocks of virtuous heritages
rush their ways into his near-torn fishing net, and
stayed there for as long as he gasped for air,
like a butterfly trying to escape the dust in daylight —
in the city where it lives in. Only now entrapped for a long time.

Then, the waves went raging, and the fisherman again
hanged onto his boat. He went sailing,
only now sailing slowly, adrift in stasis, and in
the sanctuary that was unforeseen in his narrow mind.
But tonight is all, perhaps, too peaceful a night;

So he didn’t question the serendipity,
and let go of his preys, in much of a hurry,
for he knows he is sailing adrift because of the moon.
And he signed a quick, albeit tender gratitude to the enlivened night.

Thereafter, his ardent question never plagued him again.