At The Bottom

(This blog was inspired by a brief stay on the Dutch Caribbean Island of Saba; the capital is named “The Bottom.”  Like the bottom of a cup, the capital is nestled at the bottom of three hills, one of which is volcanic).


Encircled by the Wind of God, 
the Saban rock,
majestically rising from the Caribbean Sea,
boasting steep rugged sea cliffs.

At The Bottom of the rock
I feel the wind rocking.
I hear leaves shivering,
As dawn is breaking.

At The Bottom of the rock
roosters crow in concert rock.
Baby chicks chirp
while doves slurp.

At The Bottom of the rock
sun rises to the early morning clock,
Brightly coloured orange bus bustling with students
Bumping along roads with curve-like dents.

At The Bottom of the rock
Silence betrays its city stocks.
Air pollution sleeps away
Noisy cars stay at bay.

At The Bottom of the rock
A lone gas station sleeps on the rock
Quaint red roofs with doors unlocked
Church building too unlocked. 

At The Bottom of the rock
road descends steeply to a lonely dock
Roads snaking along mountainside rocks
Leaving heartbeats to rock.

At The Bottom of the rock
Life sleeps on this rock 
Hills litter roads with rocks
with weak enforcements to block.

At the bottom of the rock
few persons flock
to buy clothes including a frock”
cause life is slow on the rock.