Fifty One ; Cloud and the Ramzaan Moon

Awake at 4 am,
when night is still sleeping,
and the day asks itself
the purpose of waking again.

I walked to the edge of my flat,
a peered around the slightly warm,
sweetish aroma
of two lives that lived within.

Then bored,
turned to stare at the sky.

Dark, dark like brooding.
no trace of the blues,
no the swirls of the winds,
just a vacant yawn between two
building with the same people
sleeping the same dreams.

One cloud hung,
hanging by an invisible tread,
lit by the Ramzaan moon.
Proud of the silver fringe.

A whisper passed my ear,
and I turned to look from where.
Nothing!

And my cloud in the Ramzaan moon
vanished into the space.

Shaking my head,
shaking itself to sleep.
I walked onto the bed
and threw the sodden sheets,
and woke up again to the shrill
Alarm ringing in the ear.

And the begining of another day.

FIFTY: When sky meets sea

Overcast skies and dim, dull light,
wet winds, the sky hanging low,
grey, sorrow of parting,
turning to joy,
in colours of union
So very anxious to merge with the sea.

The sea too is grey, grim awaiting the sky,
no longer placid blue, rich green or silver.
The calm of long months,
and turbulence beneath the tranquil,
Emptying all at once,
foaming away the lonely days.

Surging waves and dancing rain,
the sky pouring out emotions,
the joy of having met, evident.

Haunting and wondrous picture,
foggy with the clouds
Frightful joy and beautiful pain
attempting to overcome every strain.

There is water everywhere,
in the sea, the air.
Drama, the intense outburst of love,
when the sky meets the sea.

The onlooking rocks are not spared
- drenched to fit into the picture,
rain, sea, sky, water in different forms,
Merging at a distance,
proving.
The sky and the sea are one.