by the sea, i am a dreamer

said mang adon, “by the sea, i am a dreamer.” he is a sailor who escaped modern society and its perfect animosity. 

fifty-five years ago, he was a failed runaway homeboy in cabarsican; coming back to his molded drawers, he went for another trail of meaning, his eyes forged inside looking in, reading his old poems desperately. the shadow of his slumber was another bitter feeling from a fisherman’s folklore.

‘i was a desperate wife of life,’ marked by the grave of his late mother, who was a mermaid and who was named after her long lost friend, who drowned in the lakes of paratong.

he tried to escape the labyrinth of it. the house he burned five years ago has finally returned its one last phone call. “i never had a country-sized dream since i was sixteen,” he answered. the grieving translates its way, from weaving an anger to the cake he has never eaten after his first dog dies. 

now, the grieving has come into shore. the child-like fun has been found in his fountain pens. “you shall be alright,” said the other fisherfolk, “for there is more coffee to drown in, poems to read on, tomorrow, away from this late melancholy evening.”

“and it has been known, already known, my gents, that only a lost child like me has ever loved the rain, the pen, and the waves of the sea.” mang adon said.