The Siren Call
By Diya Singh
A wicked thing lies in the water, it beckons me in -
I awake at odd hours of the night in countless countries,
On numerous beaches and under star-lit skies.
Icy, crisp night with the aircon’s artificial breeze driving my sails,
A parched throat and a siren sound awakens me
So many hours past midnight.
Thin hotel-sheets - as pale as the moonlight filtering into the room
And the bed is always occupied - bodies lie so close to me,
I feel their heat radiate.
Can they not hear it? The ghastly wailing? The slow rhythmic hum of the sea?
Something evil lies just outside, across the sea.
No, evil wouldn’t be right.
Something so arcane, it predates life.
Something primordial is stirring in the sea and oh!
Look how it is beckoning me, pulling me closer to the current.
And sometimes when the night is just quiet and warm enough, I give in.
Before I know it, I am slipping into warmer clothes and scrambling
To find my slippers or shoes or paraphernalia.
My hands are shaky as I grab the hotel key and I am peeling through the lobby -
Still using echolocation to pinpoint this distress signal.
And when the salty air hits me, and there is no longer a reason
To keep my slippers on;
When I can feel the sand and the sea and the night breeze -
I am one step closer.
This otherworldly voice, this hauntingly real and charming call
Reaches into the depth of me and wills me to the sea.
There is something in the water, ma. It is calling out to me!Can’t you hear it? Can’t you feel its buoyant pull?
But I never listen, always barring myself from hearing its pleas.
Truth be told, I’m petrified.
One day, I’ll listen to the siren call - hear it all the way out.
And submerge myself in waters so deep - I would not feel them engulf me.
Just watch as the sea swallows me - wholly eaten from tip to toe.
Gone, gone, gone.
All that’s left dotted along the beach are my slippers, my coat and my room key.
Anyways, doctor,
What seems to be the matter with me?
By Diya Singh
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