I look at the deep blue sea,
stretching endlessly before me,
as I sit on the sands, alone, very alone,
pondering over the vicissitudes of life.
It has just been a day,
since I had buried my soul mate,
of forty-five odd years,
and grief was choking every pore of my body.
It would be so easy to walk into the sea
and do away with myself and my grief.
It would be easy to drown for I had never learned how to swim,
I rose; my mind made up to take the plunge.
At that moment, I catch sight of two young souls
with rags covering their malnourished bodies.
They were giggling and laughing
and delightedly picking up shells from the sands.
I stop for a minute as I move towards the sea,
and instead, walk over to the two little cherubs.
I catch their eye and ask them what it is,
that is making them so happy.
The younger of the two pulls out a small bag,
and opens it carefully and lets me peep inside,
I see a multitude of multi-coloured shells,
in a variety of glorious rainbow hues.
I look at the two children in sudden wonder.
A thought pierces my heart like a vicious arrow.
In rags and with no food in their bellies,
these children can still find joy in picking seashells.
And here I am a grown-up,
unable to withstand my grief,
planning to walk into the glorious sea
and add to its countless drowned souls.
I look at the children and ask,
“Can I join you in picking seashells?”
They look at me doubtfully and then the younger one says,
“Yes, if you promise to give us the shells you pick.”
Ah! a hard bargain, that is for me,
but I say with a smile, “Okay, fine,”
and I go seashell hunting with my newfound friends,
instead of taking a plunge into the deep blue sea.
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