The Canister

You stare at your thousand dollar screen

I gaze into abysses of oceans azure and forests untamed

The sea spray and mountain mist engulfing my beard and body

The blazing sun caressing my face and forehead

You hop between glass and concrete temples radiating air conditioning

I hop from muddy banks to raggedy rocks

Bathed in frost, grime and sweat eclipsed by the mighty mountains

You dream of riding around town in a convertible with your booming bass blasting

I long for riding in the back of a lorry lined with sacks and hay

Sun tanned, throat parched, thirst for the rustic countryside partly quenched

You sip your pumpkin spiced latte, worried about your Gap shirt getting crumpled

I sip my roadside chai, beaming as its warmth envelops my toes in tattered shoes

Embracing me from within, holding me close in cahoots with the pouring rain

The earthen scent rising up and taking over my senses

The amber liquid caresses and cleanses

But we are not so different, you and I 

Just wayfaring strangers trying to make the most of our existences

Escaping within otherworldly distractions and diligences

He came at a time no mortal man was ready for. His speed, his inhumane abilities could never have been foreseen. He is nothing short of superhuman, his 'Airness' is a reincarnation of the God of Basketball in flesh and blood. No other man so rightly deserves that acclaim, the very fabric of the noble sport stitched into his skin. None could could stop him, none could catch up with him. Gravity seems to seep away as this celestial being rises above all others, his weapon of choice none other than himself. Words are lost, there is nothing but amazement; speechlessness arises out of sheer awe. Some might claim him to be the best, there is a reason why. His name commands respect, and no other being deserves it as richly as this man does. Michael Jordan. A Legend. The Legend.

"To Air is not human, its essence Divine."