*
Sunset in Bermuda
a balm for barefoot souls,
is a soft sip of sugarcane dreams,
the hush of hibiscus
nodding in time to the sea’s
steady whisper.
*
Turquoise waters wash
into sunshine blue skies
lapping upon pink beaches.
The horizon hums
a slow-spoken lullaby,
singing in soft syllables,
its lips brushing the shore
like a mother kissing
a sleeping child.
*
The sun slips down
strolls along the spine of the sky,
like a secret, sinking
behind cedar silhouettes,
folding light like linen
across the shoulders
of sleepy hills.
*
Clouds, cottoned and crimson,
become sails adrift
above orange oceans.
The scent of salt and sap
settled deep in my skin.
Each sunset stitches another story
into the sky’s canvas,
each wave writes words
the reef would remember.
*
The sun doesn’t just set—
it sighs, it shimmers,
into the blue basin of home.
Casuarinas lean in,
whispering wind-woven stories
only the hibiscus understand.
Palmetto shadows stretch
long and languid,
like yawning cats across coral paths.
*
Each sunset speaks in swirls—
a sermon of color,
preaching peace with every
passing second.
The sky blushes beneath the sun’s gaze,
shy and smitten,
while the horizon holds its breath
beneath the weight of wonder.
*
And I—
as a barefoot boy
close my eyes and drift—
remembering watching with quiet eyes,
the world folding itself
like a secret wrapped in saffron,
into silence, into softness,
into something sacred,
a flame flickering
behind the veil of tomorrow.
*
The sunset never ended.
It smiled,
balancing time
between sand and stars,
the sea was my sanctuary,
the sky was my scripture
and the sun and the sea
knew my name.
