Sometimes, the Sun
Sometimes, the Sun lays heavy
Like a large egg waiting to crack;
Its pregnant curves spilling forth
With a blinding je ne sais pas –
Swelling with life and glory,
Gushing golden joy out its sides.
Sometimes, the Sun lies lonely,
A single eye framed by sullen clouds,
A solitary lamp in a dark room.
With no love, it sits, a white-hot aperture,
As though the tablecloth of humankind
Could be pulled off the bald earth
Quietly through this hole.
Sometimes, the Sun doesn’t want to be seen:
A pensive neighbour, it hides behind
And tiptoes across the clouds’ billowy curtains,
Tired of being a light in a dark world,
An ember in the interstellar noir.
And sometimes, the Sun forgets
That it is not alone.
It forgets that I too, am at times,
Effusive, brooding and lonely, yet
No less a brilliant flame
To warm cold hands and a heavy heart
On a bitter winter’s day.