Are you strewing seeds, or migrant clouds?
Stop waiting for the wind, my soul,
Migrant clouds rise among chilled swimmers on the beach,
Boats slowly skimming the waves, 
Piebald sails that seem to fly and sparkle-
A high-spirited lady claims so intense
Is love you wish to blend into your lover-
Might be so, but why lads are in stitches, 
One of them ogling a scantily-clad teen?
Game’s yours, now, scatter words, scatter clouds, 
It’s your start, so forget those angry skies 
Burning worse than lovers’ stares,
Anytime they tear the moon apart-
And where are now the mates you hung out with, 
Them mates, yes, now that souls 
Are swamped in stifling rooms, 
Cramped with rebellious windows, intrusive draughts,
And your self-deceiving women-
Nothing more, deffo, but are they a cop out, or false friends?
Whatever, soul, please don’t look so sad, 
Don’t try too hard to play the game,
See, the sky has already set up stars, cloudbursts, 
A blue anger, the armour he wears if you fancy
Getting in touch with him-
Not to mention, my love, those delirious jabber of sand,
Shouting colours, tropical resorts, the same weary pretext 
As he hardly thinks you a worthy sparring partner-
So, the anxious clouds will run for it, 
Casual tiffs, blazing rows, who cares,
So long as leaving shines green, all over the moon,
And light feels stronger than her first words, 
Her vibrant noes, while she wonders if light
Can last all day long among dust, shelters, and drawers, 
Or simply let you on the loose-
And what if light stumbles? Well, she’ll get hold of you,
You’ll fall down, see, such things happen
When light is askew, her borders clash with ailments,
Or symptoms, and the only handy remedy is 
To fight harms, and loss-
Now, it’s your turn, stop it, fire, my reckless friend, 
Beware, everyone is a maze where everyone gets lost, 
With books whirling fast, plants falling down 
In the background-
Anyway.
Look, my soul, light is here, among all the women 
Who went wrong more than once, and paid for dear life
While no one cared-
Let mothers, women, and places scream at her 
To run for the hills, no room for intruders,
Let the mantle of darkness be slick 
With strange clouds, weird stars, whenever those artists,
The time, the sky, walk by arm in arm,
And someone is writing at home, 
Under a biting truth bathed in light-
Life? Maybe, but no names are exchanged,
She’s undercover tonight, so are ol’ die-hard habits-
See, just like the moon they thrive underground.