A RAINY DAY AT ST. LUCIA
(For Derek Walcott)
It always rains at St Lucia, arrowhead warbler
Chants from the green. So many bards flock together
From shores of time. The elder of twin boys.
La Plata to Di Hong
The Ganges to river Yuna
All bear a name: poems.
Fruits are juicy, flowers with perfume,
Core of fire burns each heart, nature’s plan.
Each one has a story to share in silence.
So we stop.
Rocks, caves and falls prepare minds
For a moment of calm awakening of inside.
Ancient sages bless for a supreme quiet stream of light
Flashing from each joint of bones. It’s home.
Season of mist makes all hearts juicy, language
Kissing words of luck hours by hours.
Love letters are taken from the bookshelf.
The sparrows and seagulls compete with doves,
Crows have part with images, history of the land,
No man can ever be more sensitive than
By the fire of the Muse, star apple kingdom.
Sense of the power and romance of flora and fauna
In poems living, like the song of the bird, trees old and new,
Flood each heart where poetry is a visitor, a valued priest.
Migratory birds search for home, we all need one.
All poets count the humming of a bee, blood in their poems
Fair creature of an hour, all lines spark. It rains, rains always.
After this poem, rain will start. Another life.
Love after love!