The Tempest

Posted on: January 10, 2012
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The Tempest
By Jayanthi Manoj

On the wet sands of an unknown island draped with strange sights, I sit beside my ruined
ship and I write,

“My Master! I adore you!
You made me survive The Tempest.”

A few minutes back under the turbid sky, I captained a deck with pride. A ship with
fortunes for life sealed with my ego, gallantly rode over the tamed waves.

I floated in a mood of arrogance and clinched on my closest pride, gently sailed on the
feathery waves. The sound of destitute were queer, my pathetic pride perched on my
peacock peak, hailed haughty smiles across infirmities. I jeered the poor, derided the low
as I passed small ferries and boats.
And THEN you sent the thunder to bolt me behind flesh and skin. The sky gritted its
thundering teeth with a deadly applause, the gentle waves grew tall and encircled the
hands around my Giant cargo. My colossal vessel
with the gyrating waves and started to wither.

I was then jerked out of my materialistic asylum. Before I could wake up my intoxicated
self I was swallowed by a Crafty wave.

I whirled, I swirled,
The Tempest
had switched ON
the washing Machine.

I got entangled with the weeds and sunk deep.

My conscious caved into obscurity. It lost itself in a dark den.
It was death’s dizzy, nullifying my senses. What heat does a roasted chicken know when
in an oven?

When I was near death with frozen hands and legs, chilled cheeks, withered, dark and
blind there was an arm that curled around my hips and startled me out of death.
At great speeds the cursor brought the page up and dragging me away from death, pulled
me off to the shore, it deposited me on the sands of the Promised Land.

Lord! I know not the saviour of my life. That resurrecting hand dived, saved, vanished.
But I know that it was YOU who sent The Tempest and it was only YOU who had sent
that Hand.

With an emancipated soul, elevated to the spiritual pedestal, I realize I lost in the gambit
only what the world could take away from me.

The wrecked ship I retrieved,
I’ll mend it
I’ll work at it.
Only the strong sheets of the vessel
Survived the lethal blow.

Now that the Tempest tide
Has died at Your word
Now I mend my ship and me
and cross the sea quite empty.
The cargo is empty, but I’ve room
For others in plenty.

He who gave The Tempest gave the lifeboat. My encounter with You has purged
Me of my mortal malady. I return from the spiritual clinic, Cleansed and Blessed.


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