poetry

explosions in the sky

you can think up of as many clichés as you want,
but fireworks and explosions in the night sky
are, and will always be, quite beautiful.

indeed, the alluring shower of rose-gold flecks
and silver-tipped arrows opening up like fragile
petals of a mimosa plant; deep red sparks shooting outwards
in a dazzling spiral like a fist that has been closed for far too long;
the flare of emerald-green lightning bolts sparkling in the night sky
like the sudden downpour of rain after a scorching day;
a cacophony of ear-splitting drumfire and the sharp cracks
of blaring gunfire in the sky, and the heady
scent of sulphur after the dust has settled –

it’s almost like watching the horizon turn rosy pink
with the coming of a new day, or the settling respite
you feel after slipping your smooth fingers into the hands of
a loved one after a gruelling day.

you know, they’ve said that you can never have
the lustre of light without a black backdrop.
indeed, the darker the onyx sky, the more resplendent the fireworks.
and you know, they’ve said that like fireworks,
you can better appreciate the moments of life when your head is above water
only when you’ve known what it’s like to be drowning under the
relentless currents and gasping for air. but like a flickering flame and
the passing moment of a firework’s blaze,
all these moments must end some day.

and while we’re standing here watching
barrel after barrel of fireworks shoot up into the sky in a majestic orchestral show,
with the charcoal twilight sky alit with glittering flowers,
perhaps all we can do is savour the beauty of the moment
and watch it pass.
and perhaps, that is all we can do.
and perhaps, that might be the real beauty of it all.

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