Trigger Warning
Washing away limpet-like doubts,
she squeezed guilt out of her hair,
drying it in the sunlight of her conviction
that she should take one day off for herself.
Combing the beach for unusually coloured glass bits,
for her mosaic board,
she didn’t mind missing a green bottle
as it floated cheekily away, since
sea salt had pumped up her mood.
At least she’d managed to preserve
another mid-sized green bottle rescued
by her Baba1 on tropical shores,
more than a quarter of a century ago.
She didn’t mind it, when suddenly a bevy of nosy
seagulls surrounded her, flapping wings busily,
giving urgent messages she couldn’t decode.
Though frustratingly, she never understood
why her folks threw the rolled-up bluish paper inside it.
Specially if it was in a language they didn’t know;
(but they could never have imagined how easy
it would be to translate lingos on the net in future).
She wondered in how many years
gulls would disappear from this coast too;
hoping their numbers would go up soon.
At least that was one small, innocuous thing she knew
about her Baba: that he’d rescued a lonely, green bottle
which had been bobbing on foreign waves for far too long;
even if the doctor had come too late to prevent him
form crossing over to the other side.
Had that message been a bane, or a warning of the
early demise of the person who’d touch the bluish paper?
Or had it contained tips for curing his illness?
The sea spray served to hide her tears;
even if others were busy sunbathing, swimming, rowing.
Glad that sand was scraping off dead cells on her feet
in the most eco-friendly way possible,
a biggish, pinkish shell with white dots
made her giggle, as laughing waves
helped it win its hide & seek game.
Winking at her sympathetically,
the sun exited dramatically into orange smoke
which decided to slowly turn itself into a purple haze.
Cozy lights beckoned, as did scents of lemon, grilled tuna.
A seagull sent Baba’s faint goodnight from a faraway
island floating towards midnight.