The Sunrise
Cutting through the cumulus streams of night, a lonely beam grasping the ways of flight, travelling across the cosmos to reach us, as we spin to welcome his sight,
A beautiful light,
Shining through her brownish hair, silhouetting the flocks of flowers she wears,
In the morning after the love we’ve shared, under the moon’s womb,
Not caring about a thing but each other and the bottle of rum,
I stand welcoming the sun,
A reminder, to toil, to labour, and to breathe,
Going to work, known as the fool, who left her early in the morning,
A sleeping queen, who’s painted and conducted my rhythmic poetry,
And so as lonely beams became light, my scattered words became poetry,
I write it inspired by her embracing light, and she sings it like the angel of melody.
