An Offer For A Dream

You watch her sprawled in that cane chair as it rocked back and forth. The chair would creak with every sinuous stretch of hers, as if to sigh and make its presence felt too, for, in such a moment of solitary bliss, no one would like to be left out.

The beautiful lush trees sway ever so gently with a breeze. Every now and then a flower would drop gently to the ground, hint of another layer unraveling. The smooth winds fan the leaves in myriad directions, with it, so would the awakening imagination flow unhindered.

She reaches out to get her drink. Clear with a lime wedge in it. It can only be rum you think, wishing a glass for yourself. The clink of ice reminds you of just how quiet it is again. She runs her glass against her temple. It’s only then you realize the tepid, humid climate of the day. You continue to look; unable to turn away, assured that you couldn’t be seen. You notice her fingers. They are long and slender. Like a princess'. As if they had been cared for, all her life. Until you look more intently and see the faint hint of calluses and many wrinkles beginning to form. And now you can’t help but wonder at the destiny that might have shaped those hands.

Time has passed but you stay rooted. You see the straw hat drawn all the way down to her face. She, languid and sprawled; you, on your toes and edgy, only now beginning to get familiar with the voyeur in you. She no longer moves, until you realize, she is fast asleep.

Your eyes move to the beach, watching the waves come and go against the beautiful pristine sands. With every wave exiting you know how fleeting a reality can be.

With the corner of your eyes, you see her awake and stretching, with her arms way over her head. You liken it to a tigress stretching after a nap, restrained and graceful all at once.

A bunch of locals come up to that part of the beach just then. Glad for the distraction, you watch as they set up their drums, lay out a blanket and even set out some food. The man starts playing the drums and slowly the men and women stat dancing. Quite usual for that part of the day.

Entranced by the lilting tunes and swaying hips, you don’t see her come up to stand right beside you, up until the moment she turns to speak to you. “Beautiful isn’t it? Inspiring..”, she says.

You long to tell her, its her. She, who has been a muse to you all these years.

But the music drowns out your voice.

The jarring music breaks your reverie. You hold a flyer that says, “Buy A Home In Dominican Republic Today”, the flyer that flagged off another daydream.