- Vol. 04
- Chapter 12
I Have Never Seen The Sea
I have never touched the sea – never, except if you count the number of times i have written it into life like a jilted lover – i should probably stop that. My sea is sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes black, sometimes she froths on her lips – the shore, in a rage against something in the sky – the moon, maybe, that pulls her tides to kiss my feet with silver light.
There are times when my sea is Olokun – the goddess of black depths; the despot that holds the chains of each shore within the corals of her nails and the reefs of her breast. When she vomits a confused crustacean, a gift to my touching feet, she expects my sacrifice to be nothing short of a swim in her blood – the sea. I do not know how to swim, or surf, or bob, or splatter, but i can sink, which i think is better. I can watch ancient sea turtles stare at the bleached sand and teach the wisdom of fishes to man but i have never touched the sea. I have said it again.
One day i will journey to Lagos, find an empty beach if i can, lay a blanket, a book, a bottle of soda and some crackers then i will watch the tides, dancing prophets, lovers and conch shell seekers and I may come to see the beauty that i write of the sea, as it run between my feet and sings me a lullaby to sleep.