A sunny day lifts hearts from grief and gloom;
I like the rays of warmth and skies of blue.
But in our words of praise, let’s leave some room
for light cast by the sky of grayish hue.
The even light suffuses everything--
no glare to blind us and no shadows cast.
The clarity that cloudy skies can bring
illuminates a future landscape vast.
A chillier breeze refreshes our attention,
and neutral gray reveals the depth and lines.
The way is clear and acts have more intention;
perception heightened, visible are signs.
Sunny days, for picnics and for beaches--
I’ll take the grey for what the soft light teaches.

I can hear the music all around me,
The thrum of long-boat hulls against the shore,
And drummer boys with stockinged feet resound me,
And heavy hammered horse shoes pound the floor,

And gunners with their twenty-ones astound me,
And diggers crash their picks into the floor,
And cannoneers launch volley fire to pound me,
And bayonets clash like cymbals on the moor,

And fighter pilots boom above to ground me,
And tank commanders rumble to the fore,
Submariners slosh water up to drowned me,
And infantry sing heartily of the corp,

And all around I hear their music roar,
The ghosts of all our heralds gone to war.

If hempen cloth to paupers garb is made,
Grey daubed as hearth'd ash, rough as firewood kindling,
And for each king, gold silken raiments laid,
Bright as the jesters smock for courtly mingling,
What garment fit for thee Clotho would make?
Unto her spindle all threads are first woven,
And of thy lot? Why, Lachesis would take!
And gift to Atropos to see thee cloven!
Who then should fret to say my garb is drab?
Tis not thine outer skin three fates have wrought,
So of thine self, judge not thy bone, thy flab,
For in thee, fates have spun all thou has sought!
    Thy measured lot was cast afore thy waking,
    And strength in thee to set the heavens shaking!

Unloving thou is but Sisyphean,
Like scoria craves mixing with sea salt.
Thus akin to night and day we're but twins
Whose burning candle is never to halt.
But ever brighter than snow veiled mountains,
And perpetual as the golden Amaranth,
Yet as pure as heavens silver fountains,
Thrice fairer than the moon of the May month
Or the sea's mighty glow against the moonlight.
Always in full spate if she’d be a stream,
To draw us in a realm of sheer delight
Where daylight to fade shall be but a dream.

So true love is a gem precious than gold
Both young and old in their palm crave to hold.


©Kikodinho Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
       22 October 2016