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.

Joshua Samuel

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