Special Section: Santosh Bakaya

Santosh Bakaya

The Girl on the Beach

 

Slowly, and with tender care,

I peel off the palimpsest of time.

Figures and silhouettes creep out,

looking around. Apprehensive.

Doubtful.

What do I see? A girl standing all alone.

She looks uncannily familiar.

Is that me on the sandy beach,

trying to reach out for those juvenile dreams

rippling in those tiny eyes? The waves also ripple.

They roar. Then there is silence.

But this silence speaks volumes.

Are the gulls speaking?  Squawking?

Loud, piercing keows- cow- cow – cow.

There is a starfish and shells.

That rings a bell:

“She sells seashells by the seashore.”

The tongue-twister rolls on my tongue,

and I recall bursting my lungs, spilling it out.

Is she contemplating mirages on the horizon,

eyes now fixed on a shaft of sunlight

making its debut on the blue immensity?

But the blue has been sabotaged by clouds.

Maybe she is hunting for those silver linings

every cloud is said to have?

Inadvertently, I raise my hands skywards:

“May those silver linings follow the little girl everywhere.”

I mumble.

The hidden birds go into a frenzy of cheerful chirping.

I sing too, and can almost see the shells moving in ecstasy.

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Setu, November 2025