On the beach

When I was a child I would go alone to the beach in Mozambique…oblivious of the danger of unstable tides!

on the beach

on the beach,
when the air is dense with moisture,
I return to the enchantment
of childhood hideaways,
where carefree humidity clung to my freckled skin.

far from the restraint of parental foreboding
I frolicked alone on endless sands,
with the warm Indian ocean
alluring me
to wild abandonment.

charged by nonchalant inclinations
I remember surf up to my neck
gulping mouthfuls
of salty seawater
and being tossed by boisterous currents.

I was in pursuit of halcyon pleasures,
the pink glow that stung my pale flesh
beat down for hours
in tropical waves of heat.

I loved my sun-kissed cheeks,
freckles merged in tanned union
and I almost felt attractive
in golden resemblance
of what I considered beautiful.
My hair was sticky and course,
and like a sea urchin
I coalesced with bedazzled vistas.

mirages of eternity were at hand, softly caressing my isolation
as I quaffed fragrant diversions.

I recall the strong smell of seaweed
saturating my senses,
with hypnotic effect
that made me forget who I was.

and in that moment
I knew nothing could touch me on these esoteric shores,
where the African sun
was my only companion.

an idyllic setting,
where soundtracks of awareness made intention,
and I could no longer hear
quarrelsome agendas
above the roar of cosmic rapture.

within me, a silent squeal of pleasure could be heard
far beyond my minuscule world…..


22 thoughts on “On the beach

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