I look upon the human vessel from afar, and they look upon me. Some wish to take me as their own. Some wish to be like me, aching to be a part of another world, another kingdom. I work my hands through my hair for them, amused by their reactions. Reactions of lust, of desire. I see not what they clamor for, I see not what they desire, for I am naught more than a little mermaid, sitting upon the human shore.
Soon, I can tell many things of the human race from this shore, I can see many things from the passing ships. I can tell who rapes and pillages, plunders and exploits. I can tell who extends their hands of mercy and love, tenderness and joy. I can tell who would violate me. I can tell who would join me under the sea. I see very clearly how complex they are from the intensity of a glance, the tone of a shout.
But none can tell a single thing about me. They scarcely hear my voice. They've forgotten how to listen to the world. They've forgotten how to listen to the sea. They cannot hear my song. They cannot hear my voice. To them, I am an exhibit, nature's exhibit, meant for others to ogle at, to reach for but never touch. In one way or another, I am objectified, idealized, placed upon a pedestal in an all too human manner.
They cannot listen.
And so I return to the sea for good, in search of another shore.
They no longer amuse me.
I will no longer amuse them.
- Evelyn Raczynski
No comments:
Post a Comment