My Monsoon…excerpt from NAGA

The north-eastern winds were becoming stronger and stronger until it developed into a full gale.  They arrived like a roaring tiger in the middle of the night. At times, the sound of it was deafening, you forgot time and place, it felt as if the storm that brought hail and fury would never end.    

I had forgotten the wavescrashing, hitting, arrivingagainst the wide beach
sandy white
at the edge of our little worldhow tiny we are, this spacecompared to the vastness
they travess
powerful windslike a tiger, roar ferociouslythe forces of the universe
supreme creation
to be so closeto the edge of time and matterwhere it does not matter
Every sunrise. Awakened.
Enlightened.

When the weather permitted it, I would see how the men looked out to sea, lounging with their backs against the wall on the verandah, smoking a roll of tobacco filled nipah leaf - longing to be back in their boats riding the waves. They did not speak, sometimes for hours.
But their gaze spoke volumes. They were content, for it was a time for rest.
The sea was like a drug that called out to the very soul. It whispered of adventure and played images of the vast open.  But beware! The sea severely punished those who forgot her or her mighty powers.  Even the lofty coconut trees shook this way and that in the wind, but they were hardy and did not give way to the master of the moment. 
***
I marveled at this life of bliss.
Life on land was unhurried, languid - full of grace. Life at sea was wrought with danger - a race against the tides, the winds, against time itself. 
When the monsoon rains and storms finally ceased, Pak Nakhoda readied his ship.  Soon, we were southbound.
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For dversepoets

This is an excerpt from my novel, NAGA - A Legend of Tasik Chini. I should not say more, but at least I am happy I have the chance to share a little bit about our monsoon. It is strange and magical, devastating and powerful.

The picture was taken in Terengganu, where this portion of the story is set, and the poem was inspired by the actual waves I heard on this beach the night we arrived.

The narrator however, is at a dangerous crossroad. To sin, or not to sin.