The Lullaby of Distant Tides - ​Alves dos Santos

He walked to the rhythm of dissolving waves,
a life etched between the sting of salt and the delirium of sunburns,
where the horizon spoke to him in imperceptible murmurs,
yet still drew him toward an unclaimed shore
The sea did not sing to him as it did to others,
its melody reached his ears already shattered,
a kind of hymn to loss
he could neither escape nor embrace
He was the reluctant guardian of the tide,
bound to its retreat, fearing its surge

Once, as twilight faded,
he heard a voice wrapped in mist -
not of a person, but of some nameless presence
Within it lay a bond to something yet undefined,
but achingly familiar
Perhaps it carried the scent of storms yet to come
or the taste of beginnings drowned beneath their ends.
“You walk in circles,” it murmured,
“your steps reopening the same wounds,
never crossing the threshold where healing might begin”

He tried to answer, but his words
were a silt of suppressed replies,
grains spilling through the hourglass of his silence
He longed to grasp what eluded him,
to let his fingers brush the contours of the unknown,
to hold something tangible
that could anchor him back to himself
But he remained still,
a monument to his unyielding inertia

The voice persisted, though,
like a tide that refuses to retreat
“You fear what awaits beyond the shore,
but even stillness drowns with time
Let the waves carry you,
not to safety, but to the deep waters
where shadows dissolve
and you become the current itself”
By morning, the tide had receded,
leaving behind traces barely perceptible -
a pattern too intricate for memory to retain,
too fleeting for regret
He walked along the shore,
his steps heavier,
but his heart lighter,
as if the voice had carved its words
into the core of his being

And though he still feared the tide’s power,
he began to wonder:
Was the shore a sanctuary,
or a sentence?
Each wave seemed to answer in riddles,
its whispers both haunted and hopeful,
until he found himself at the edge,
no longer waiting,
but ready to move forward -
not as a man fleeing the tide,
but as one who belonged to it
​

Alves dos Santos was born on February 4, 1978, in the South African city of Johannesburg, but he grew up in Machico, the land where Portuguese explorers first set foot on the beautiful island of Madeira. Alves dos Santos has been described as a traveler of the soul, an explorer of human stories and uncharted realms. In his words, we find the beauty of an essence in constant ferment—a blend of pure air and volcanic undertones—but above all, the portrait of a man who lives in harmony with discovery, truth, and, most of all, life.