Siren & Storm

Each drop that hits the boulder is carving out a story. Drop by drop, over millions of years. No one knows where it comes from. From the unknown depths of the ocean it rises into the sky and falls down, precisely hitting the razor-sharp rocks.

The island that is barely seen by human eyes is ruled by fierce spirits. Just like those powerful rocks that resemble the scales of a dragon's back. The place where the ocean and land meet. A union which is not so pleasant. Creatures from the depths take refuge in this lonely land. There the whip of the siren cracks into the air heavy with moisture.

The stories or the myths passed down from one generation to another are not false. Nor are they literally true. They hang somewhere between heaven and earth. And this is that land which is graced by the spirits of the ocean and land. Sirens whose cries and music are irresistible and deafening at the same time. We don't know what pain these spirits hide in their heavy hearts.

Her charm gives her the name of a siren, just like Medusa, who was the priestess of Athena.

Her charm and the ability to see through you frighten everyone. And then the myth of demonising isolates her. Truth has its own cost, and she bears it on the tip of the whip. When she wields it in her hand and cracks it, the hypnotised heart comes to its senses.

And then the scared heart that couldn't control her weaves story after story, slowly hardening her as someone with beauty and death combined. Generations make believe to fear her, stay away from her, and she remains the siren whose voice has only one audience the ocean. She reigns supreme there. The ocean and the storm are her companions.

She rules the ocean and the storm in her heart. These sirens live among us; fearless, beautiful, living in their own world where we hardly matter.

We can hardly descend into the depths to see her true face. And when we don't understand her, we only see the whip she carries. The truth she told us is hard to digest, so we seal our ears with wax, just like Odysseus's companions.

And we carry the curse of the path of eternal travelling, never to find our home. We go out for the glory, forgetting someone is waiting back home. Each girl isolated by circumstances becomes the siren to defend herself in her own way.

Her beauty becomes her shield, her whip, and sometimes her curse just like Medusa's. So she prefers the land between heaven and earth, where no one can reach except the storm eternally crashing on the land and there, only she rules.

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Muse : K Raginee Yogesh

Words & Images : Yogesh Kardile

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