It is in the nature of clouds to hang high in the sky,
To cover the face of the sun with arrogance so stubborn,
To twist hope and fortune of man with its power on rain,
To enter with a stampede in thunderous claps to humanity,
Cooling the spheres with its Sun fettering power,
Clouds come forcefully as if they will wane not,
They catapult the times into a frenzy of no measure,
Cloud of Omar Khayyam in the skies of Nishpaur
Showered town tremors in the arts of Arabia
Rubiyats and Rubiyats to a thousand fold,
Paving way for others in the English azure;
Shakespeare William the thievish bard of John
He stole the political papyrus of King Lear
From indolent European in the English Shires,
******* lyrics and Pindarics in **** of Lucrece,
Until the times came to its unbelievable exit
From the stage reigned only by culturally mighty
At the glorious hamlet of Stratford-upon-Avon,
Just has his master cloud solemnly disappeared,
Into the Arabic death gardens of Omar Khayyam,
It is indeed the true nature of all clouds
To appear with flamboyant spirit of tyranny
But only to disappear later like tail of snake.