The Curtain of Cloud
On peeking out of the window
I see a curtain of cloud.
Gray and white freckles in the sky.
So silent, yet still so loud.
As a kid, I painted images on them,
Taking as my canvas, the sky.
I drew pigeons, butterflies and bees,
It was fun to have my imagination fly.
As I grew older, I took to paper and pen.
I was preoccupied with friends and books.
Even the sky turned more gray than blue,
It did not seem to be worthy of more than a look.
Today, I realize, what it is like to imagine,
And interpret things on my own.
There is no one to stop you,
You are in this world on your own.
Then I see the clouds again
And images pop out of nowhere
I had been bereft of them for so long,
They have been forever here.
Time flies and we grow old,
The curiosity of a child diminishes,
But someone to admire its beauty,
Is all the curtain of cloud wishes.
On peeking out of the window
I see a curtain of cloud.
Gray and white freckles in the sky.
So silent, yet still so loud.
As a kid, I painted images on them,
Taking as my canvas, the sky.
I drew pigeons, butterflies and bees,
It was fun to have my imagination fly.
As I grew older, I took to paper and pen.
I was preoccupied with friends and books.
Even the sky turned more gray than blue,
It did not seem to be worthy of more than a look.
Today, I realize, what it is like to imagine,
And interpret things on my own.
There is no one to stop you,
You are in this world on your own.
Then I see the clouds again
And images pop out of nowhere
I had been bereft of them for so long,
They have been forever here.
Time flies and we grow old,
The curiosity of a child diminishes,
But someone to admire its beauty,
Is all the curtain of cloud wishes.
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