In times where ships carried silk & spices from the east to the rich west.
When Portugal , Holland , Spain built empires beyond the mighty Atlantic. South of China was pirate bay. Where many small fleets of ships operated .
This story was common in most ports . Be it Goa, Macau , Galle or anywhere else . Only the Characters changed. Local girls who fell for the foreign sailors, captains , officials , cooks , whatever.
Yet sailors will be sailors and they all sailed away , sooner or later.
Just pondering , after a few generations after, wouldn't that link , still pull the descendants towards
each other ?
Though separated by masses of saline water .
After all blood is supposed to be thicker than it .
This is one such tale of Ferdinand : “The Journey” in Portugal and Longing Lang “ The longing wave” , stuck somewhere in an isle amidst the south china sea
The aged waves, you face
about the fleets they have dispatched ,
and what they brought ashore
You not know
In this sluggish town of Lagos
the gust seem to effervescent one’s thoughts
and unchain them
and give them flight so
(more than the pungent shots of coffee from the café down the road)
when you sit on the boulder and gaze in to the dusk
you once told me
you felt it
Do you now fathom what your grandfather said ?
his rudimentary sketches
their names and the dates they passed
When he sat amidst the old seagulls
it makes him content
I hear you
when you say
his shadow is still there amidst sea stained bedrock
beyond the stretch
where old sailor bones grow in to
Ferdinand , you tell again that you felt something
But do you know
In a little isle lost in the south china sea
amidst the ruined junks facing the silky
there is a girl
gazing at the autumn red
The longing wave
She sits musing about her mothers ‘s tale
Pirate girl and a sailor’s love
is a famous story
in every port
with only names changed
while silk covered a weeping heart
hull of the old ship
carried the memories across
kept at bay beyond the fetid quay
lest , it causes too much ache
too much mayhem
it was too much for the reef to contain
when the night is black ,
they slowly in crept
while tears ran the line of her face
across the sky pulled golden threads
and the waft whiffed afar
sighs of despair
I tell you
the whisper is the wind
when you turned
The brush of the silk shawl
On your nape
That is the something