I was running with my eyes closed and when I opened them I was running on a cloud. With every step, lightening bolts lit up the ocean to its depths, and creatures not seen for million s of years stopped in shock when seeing the destruction that humans have inflected on the surface earth.
Ahhh yes, the sun is beating down on the earth, that tropical breeze is whistling through the trees, powder puff clouds floating across the sky, its nice and quiet. Hmmm, I think its a great time to take a walk. Through the flower garden, in between the bougainvillea plants, past the hibiscus trees. Yes man, when the scent of one blossom fades, it is replaced by another. Walk through the knee high grass, through the mass of butterflies fluttering around, past the plum trees, past the mango tree, under the bird’s nest hanging from the branch of the soursop tree. Now I can hear the ocean, the flock of seagulls diving for their food. Down to the edge of the cliff, find my favorite to sit on. Ahhh yes, that cool sea breeze tickles my skin. So I will sit here, feeling the heat of the sun, then the relief of the cool breeze and watch the emerald ocean, the white clouds performing a theatrical masterpiece against the blue skies. Small boats lazily gliding by, flying fish popping out of the ocean. Yes, its Sunday, peace day on the island.
Time goes by
Sometimes its like walking on a silver road of stars
Sailing on an ocean of dark green seaweeds
Dancing on the surface of a lake bare feet in he middle of winter
Crying sunbeams for the joy of love
Being caught between a lightening bolt and a rainbow
Because the first fifty is the living years
And the last fifty is the dying years
That’s when time goes in bursts of speed and other times slows down to excruciating reality. All that can be done is to wait.
Wait for the ocean to part so you can walk towards the sun.
I am doing a jig at the edge of a precipice
The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks is the melody I dance to
The moon shimmered across the ocean like lights from a disco ball
The wind hummed like a base steeldrum
Clouds cast shadows over the stones, the grass, the trees, the sand
The weeping willow leaves whistled in the breeze
Still are the birds, the animals, the people
It is that hour, that hour right before conscious death
One day, when a rainstorm is about to burst out of the silver gray sky. I will walk down to the beach, step into the ocean and swim out, the tropical rain forest disappearing in the mist behind me. I will dive down to the ocean’s bed, lay on my back and look up at the rain crashing into the ocean’s surface. Watch the small ripples merge into one flowing wave, marvel at the traffic of tropical fish and mammals floating by above me. Maybe I will see this world differently if I see it from the bottom up.
Sitting on the hilltop
Watching the sun rise
Watching the reflecting orange ocean ripple
The cool trade winds brushes her hair into your face
Her shoulder touches yours for a second
Its one of those moments
When you realize, you need to breath to stay alive
Ohhh yes, its one of those Sundays, when you was to go sit on the hill top overlooking the emerald ocean, watch the sailboat glide into the beach, its white sails flapping gently in the wind. Marvel at the green trees with sprinkles of red flowers on them. Watch the shadows of seaweeds float back and forth in the ever moving surf. Smile as boys and girls compete to see who had the best run up and dive into the warm waters. See the house that are built into the forestry, yes man, look at the cluster of buildings in the small city, it was that very place last Sunday when you sat and watched the fish swim in the habour. Squint your eyes as the sun bounced off the colourful roofs, inhale the fresh sea air, shift a little making yourself comfortable on the soft grass you sat on. Take a sip from the cold refreshing Mango juice you brought with you. Ahhh yes brother, another peaceful Sunday on the island.
Ahhhh yes, mid marning Sunday on the island. No hustling to get to work, no traffic, no loud chatter of people, no loud music. Yes man, it is a good time to take a walk. Watch the small fishing boats bob in the water, sit on the edge of the side walk and dangle your feet into the clear ocean, watch the fish glitter in the morning sunlight, listen to the church bells chime in the city, watch a group of children diving off the concrete jetty, here the stevedores sing as they begin to load the banana boat. Sit there and daydream about the destination of the great ship until its lunch time. Walk up the cobble stones alley back to your house, past the Catholic church and hear the haunting melody of hymns. Stop at the bottom of the concrete steps and smell the food. Close your eyes and take a mental picture of the Sunday morning scenery you just left.
Somewhere over the rooftops, you can see the blue sky, cloud like white shadows disappear into cotton candy puffs. Somewhere across the rooftops, down into the market, a fruit vendor lays out his colourful fruit, singing along to the calypso music thumping from the minibus. Somewhere, just beyond the rooftops, where the natural habour sits, with houses nestled in the trees, the fishermen prepare to go out to sea. Somewhere across the rooftops, a young boy pulls on the ropes sending the chimes of the church bells echoing through the city. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, school children chatter as they walk the narrow streets. Overlooking the rooftops, I daydream about the beach, the rolling waves, the scent of salt, the jumping fish, the glitter of the sun against the water. Somewhere across the rooftops, paradise waits for every man.
Ahh yes, Saturday, a great day to sit in the shade and watch the small fishing boats go by. A great day to just relax and watch the children playing cricket, splashing clear ocean water as they run. A great day to feel the hot sun that seeps through the leaves of the tree. Watch the fisherman put a fresh coat of bright coloured paint on his boat, his pride and joy. Watch his young son mend the fishing nets, preparing form the day when they can go out again. Watch the Rastamen walk by their black locks glistening in the sun. The lingering scent of ganja, the melody of they lingo. Ahhh yes, it is Saturday afternoon, beach time, do nothing, just watch the world go by.