Poetry

I saw it first,
that giant magic tree
just over the Magalies mountains
 
with thousands of Jacaranda trees
lining the streets acknowledging
that soon the sun would shine again.
 
The pepper tree in the front
of the yard took its notice
while birds started singing in it,
 
and the avocado tree stopped lashing the roof
and was looking at the majesty
of different colours.
 
That great clear rainbow was huge
spreading its beauty and indicated
the end of days of rain,
 
but our bedroom’s windows
were drawn close
with thick mauve curtains
fencing you off
in your own cave
which was as dark as a grave
 
where you hated any light
and laid in darkness
as if the fourteen day’s rain
would last forever
and the only safe place
was the big warm copper bed
 
and yet, outside the sun
was hanging brilliant white
in a clear blue sky
while you wished to die
and felt more blue
than the heaven above
 
and when I opened the curtains,
opened the windows wide,
you saw me as a member
of the inquisition
and thought that I was throwing
a searchlight in your eyes
as if I wanted to question you
and I wonder why
you wanted to spend the whole holiday
sleeping and playing dead?