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Sajid Ali Poem
The sun contours the cloud’s edges
Like a sky crack. If the sun be my eye,
Could eye be distracted from the surface heaven?
Some seven wispy islands’ masking bedding,
The frictive crashing plates, dying
And reborn downpours, slitted resting
Clouds, tense breasts and tension bringing.
A salmon fillet stretches gelatinously,
Horizon skin cooked by incidental switches,
Minor cloud bump shuffles that arrest
The sky. It lay there scorching
From the daggered strikes, the speaking
Pikes that shatter crackled clouds.
Their lost remains are seeping out of line,
An army shielded, steel of darker, stealing paints.
Valhalla battle cries boast legends, saints
And mages known only to the sky.
Copyright © Sajid Ali | Year Posted 2026
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