The Grey Hills Beyond The Sea

September 20, 2010 at 10:33 am (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)

 lose themselves

in lines of sky;

mist after the rains

over the lighthouse,

the ships, the water.

From Adil Jussawalla’s balcony

the wet world blooms

in a paradise of flowering trees,

reds, yellows,

18 stories below;

traffic moves along both lanes

of the street

and a tiny road ahead

opens into the waves bursting in gold.

There are herons now,

Adil tells me

and then I see one;

white, so beautiful,

such a sense of belonging there,

it carried along the whole host

of buildings in Cuffe Parade,

the fishing village and the boats

into the sky. 

– Dominic Alapat


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