Amaltas

 

The rest of the world

Melts and drips as in Dali’s art -

Here a vanished soul, there a dissipated heart

Sulking away in April’s rage

Everyone playing their broken part

 

The only glimmer brighter

Than this parching hot summer’s day –

The Golden showers, as if they say,

Look at us, we contain the sun

And hence we are in mirthful play

 

Unscathed by dust of a gasping loo,

The empty heat gets them to glow,

Shimmering scales of the seasons’ flow

But who has time for burning hues,

A today lost in a tomorrow

 

Yet, tomorrow when the world calms down

(A different shower heals in turn),

One busy soul may stop to run,

And ask, were there not few colours here?

But the golden showers long left the sun…