If you’re a toddler, who’s a Sesame Street fan,
You would know “Elmo” the baby monster,
And still the TV faithful,
Have heard alarm bell ring from all corners,
On how popular this little red monster,
With an orange nose, has become. Elmo has stolen
Not just hearts but airtime.
Still, let me tell you of another Elmo,
The saintly phenomenon that can be seen
On top of masts, of strapping ships,
Sailing through voracious storms. And
This fire, has the hallmarks,
Of a bright blue flame, luminous plasma flaring
On top of the ship’s mast, as the patron
Saint of sailors, keeps firm vigil,
Visible to the naked eye.
We are all sailors by make and choice,
Conquistadors of our own ships,
Our destinies; the sail, our spirit;
And St Elmo’s fire, what else but hope, the kind
That blazes in the darkest hour,
Sprouts from abysses of rock bottom,
Sings to the heart beat, dances to melancholy
And makes blue, a color of firm belief.
And the voice of St Elmo, can be heard from
Inside the dungeons of our hearts.
The voice within us, that screams
Just like Elmo the monster, truths about us, who we are
And where we are going, while clutching hope.
And that vertical blue flame,
Is what drives us on, through the brine,
What is deceptively deep, and is swarming
With many kinds of sharks. And St Elmo,
Saves you, as you reach your port of calling,
Mooring to a jetty, learning
That journeys, do come to an end.
And its time to retire Elmo.
The loud voice and the vertical flame,
As you become one with your destiny,
No longer living on the sail,
As you throw your anchor down to a depth
That sinks in sheer bliss,
And in the aftermath, you take a minute,
To remember St Elmo, the fiery saint,
Who stayed alive, through the lengthy wick,
Of a burning dream.