CLOUD WALK
A PEM BY WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
CLOUD WALKĀ
Ā The blue oceans,
they don't know stillness.
They just move, always,
a restless, massive breath.
This tireless motion
is not just tide and wind,
it is love.
A deep, seismic agreement
with the empty spaces.
See the high, cold clouds?
They condense to rain for the same reason.
Not gravity, not pressureā
but an ache to touch the earth,
to fill the dry cracks,
a swift, cool, falling love.
The jagged, electric path of lightning
falls to this earth
as a sudden, bright act of recognition.
And smoke rises into upward,
a thin, grey prayer,
seeking the source of the light.
Then the quiet, inevitable end.
The body goes
like ash or dirt,
a loan returned to the soil.
The complex machine stops,
but the engine of all this movementā
the part that loved, the part that longedā
the soul remains unknown,
a blue ocean, still in motion,
somewhere else.
WILLIAMSJI MAVELIĀ
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
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