VOYAGE. As you in the genesis of mauvering, The blue skies turn dark, All comes to mind is rain, With a novel wind from nowhere, And waves wandering to your side, Washing in and out you canoe, Filling with water, Water everywhere but Not a drop to drink! Victoria would turn the sahara Into a flourishing glassland. Canoe anchored at sunset, Till a new sun rises, Cold night, and everyone freezing, Prayers made, to yonder the tulmuous night, Expectation of angels is null, To take us away forward, What a waste of water! Not a drop to cleanse eyes, And thornhyacinth where we anchored. Leaning on the rail yearning, As the boat now heading towards a horizon, Where the sky is light, Seeming to hold out a vague Promise of sunshine, Rainbow curved in the sky, Dark clouds fading slowly into the blues, And the waves drowns into victoria.