12-24-2010, 11:54 PM
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#1 (permalink) |
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Senior Member
Join Date: May 2007
Location: Walking the shorelines in the evenings
Posts: 354
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Aruba Wind Dried His Eyes
NOTE: The original version of this little Snippet was written in 2007. I re-wrote it recently in hopes that I could give one of my favorite little creations a bit more substance.
Here - on this island When cars numbered less than fifty When smelling like sweat and salt was a good thing When closets never held more than three garments per person When shoes were bought by the color and not the size When shaving with yesterdays shaving water made the blade slide better When “Rocking Chairs” were prized possessions When saying “hello” was the start of a conversation and not just a greeting When fish were eaten and not “prized” When the elderly were considered wise and not old When (if you got sick) you went to the old lady that lives in the hills When receiving a letter was cause for a reunion of family and then later, a telling to friends During those times - Long ago - here on this island - Lived a wise man – he was elderly His life partner and friends knew him well – They knew his strengths and understood his weaknesses This man thought of his children - Off far away in a country called Panama Four days by boat (not 1 hour by plane) He thought of their misfortune – not being here on Aruba at his side They lived in cities of at least one thousand other souls – It must be stifling On soft nights - this man stood and spoke to the night - and it listened He chanted his children’s names - Almost a moan You could hear him - He would say Come back to us - We are alone - You must be lonely for us - I know this Here, not there - We are your home The small hills by the ocean miss you The cacti have no-one to prick and the thorns are bloodless The birds have no one to sing to and their voices are now weak Your dog no longer barks at night sounds - he sleeps, his head on his paws Crystal clear waters miss your splashing Dirt roads are without the marks of your bare feet These things my children - these things are bad On soft nights - this man stood valiantly and leaned into the heavens He leaned into the winds and dared anything to stop him His white hair was combed by the wind in a handsome way He chanted his children’s names - Almost a moan He wept softly at receiving their letters - They were read to him by others He read not - His wisdom did not permit it - he was to wise to inflict self pain This man - this man - this lover of his family moaned at the night And to maintain his pride – he went to the small hill in back of his home And there - All alone with his island and its elements This man removed his shirt and bathe in waterless fountains of loneliness Friends and family wordlessly looked on – yet pretended not too They stood with legs tight to each other and hands crossed in front They honored him with their eyes And as they did The wind would dry the old mans eyes Here on this small island The loneliness made him perspire He took pride to know that smelling like sweat and salt was a good thing And cars numbered less than fifty Here on this island. be well charles Last edited by charles; 12-25-2010 at 11:23 AM. |
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