To the crazy days.
When days and nights
were swept on a high
When it was high tide
on all days of the month.
When caution seemed sour
and restraints grew faint,
and the brain went all hearts and mushy
Doused in music, high and breezy.
Where nothing was far
no dream too dreamy
no secret was untold
no lies went too grey.
Where lies were white.
Where lies were objects of truce
that fuelled getaways.
Getaways on wild, wild clouds
where rain could not drench us.
Over hills and valleys
and stretches of beaming coconut palms
brushing coyly against the blue ocean breeze.
Where salt was all sweet
and heart bore smears of sandal
Where sheer air would waft
song after song of promise.
And the mere sight,
sight of houses with tiled roofs-
roofs that tapered-
lit lights of hope and wishful thinking,
and painted divinations
on the insides of the eyelids
in shades of gold, all balmy and glow.
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