I lay in bed and look out the window.
I see clouds forming on nature’s canvas
And painting the sky with shades of grey.
I don’t need my radio to drown out the everyday
Chaos of my surroundings.
The approaching storm gives my batteries
A much needed breather.
I close my eyes and am transported
To a Caribbean concert hall.
Thunder pulsates through the walls
Like beating drums.
The wind is the guida,
The rain a tambora,
And the lightening clashing cymbals.
The storm is the Maestro and
Together they play Kompa (Haitian Music).
I listen to the music.
It reminds me of my life
Before it was stained like
This barred and soiled window -
A window that has witnessed
Tears of regret for all the misprints
Of my life.
The storm fades. The song ends.
I wish to open the window
And smell the wet earth,
But it won’t budge.
It imprisons me.
One day, I will not have to look
Through this barricade.
I will be set free
To try again and
Go back to life after the storm.