Up on the cliff high above the grey swelling sheen
I munch my lunch under bright cloud-covered sun
and dream of riding a vessel on that choppy stream
nonchalantly sailing towards the distant horizon.
Far out over the turmoil of that deep, dark briny
sea I would brave weather to land on exotic lands
miles away from the turmoil of everyday memory
and the life that trickles from my weary hands.
In my mud-soaked bus eating my bar of chocolate
hours become meaningless in the farce of my day
and I wonder at the future left to me, and my fate
as a white-sheeted craft wanders serenely away.
Malek Montag, Rochester, Kent, 2015