i remember you
once saying that
you loved the clouds.
the way you would speak
about their beauty
contributed to your own
beauty, & i wanted
part of that world.
i learned all the
different types of
clouds, all the
shapes, all the
colors. i wanted you
to see their beauty in
me. but i only appreciated
them ; you were
the girl who truly
loved the clouds.

My life has always been centered around sunsets
Although i long to savour beautiful sunrise
Ive always felt at ease
When im shrouded by the dark veil of a starry night
Although i long to chirp like a tiny bird
When the world gets colured in a golden light
I always find myself drenched in memories
Reminiscing about  things that i loved so in the past
Searching new ways by which i could go back someday
Although i know its impossible
So i try to act like i live in the present
But i actually live in between the layers of  past
They say i dream a lot
My dreams are incredible they say
Because they arent ambitious enough as theirs
They dream of reaching new heights in their careers
passing the toughest national level examinations and a life filled with finest pleasures
I dream about floating with pearly white clouds as curly as the strands of my hair
Making paper aeroplanes
Which has my sloppy rhymes written upon it
Swinging upon a smiling crescent moon
Weaving a garland of stars
That will shine like a diamond necklace
When darkness invades their life but doesnt goes away
Its a bunch of crap they say
Urge me to come out of a fantasy world
And embrace reality everyday
So i try to get up from those curly clouds
And try to become earth bound
But i land so clumsily
slip and trip
fall with a resounding 'thud'
I see bruises all over
With blood trickling out from them
Ouch
I wasnt made to live in reality i guess

I keep thinking out loud
Keep uploading to the cloud
And wondering, what its all about.

Floating days lifted in flight by birdsong,
waiting upon an evaporating cloud
of time and its passing, its trail leaving so soon.

How do I feel on a cloudy day?
Stinging eyes and stained regret,
things that in the Sun I do not fret
about or for.

A staring Sun's gaze burns so softly
upon a man walking the path
towards ever approaching melancholy.

i don't really know what it feels like to be in love but i think the clouds look nice about an hour before sunset when it seems like everything is submerged underneath a blanket of cotton
or maybe in the morning, when the sky is so blue but the clouds are so sad and so soft like the froth that sits on top of my soda in the summertime when its hot
or right before a sunset when the clouds are dripping gold and the sky seems to soak up all of their honey, honey like the bottles tucked away in the pantry, honey like the eyes of the spiral-haired boy living across the street
and i sit and watch how beautiful the sky is from the sweet-smelling sheets of my bed or the lonely window in my classroom or the passenger seat of my father's car and think of how beautiful it must be to be in love

Loaf with dignity
and stretch out with long elegance
Rest with intentionality
and stop with full confidence

Pit stop with tenacity
and pause with perfect poise
Lie with all honesty
shut out the demanding noise
and soak in the inner stillness -

for your rest is essential before activity
your meditation before mobility
your self before any sway
over the crowd's frenetic insensitivity.

And oh, the clouds!

Look,
you have the clouds!

Bleak when I'm gone            from your embrace
Grey is the sense                   without your taste
Mistiness                                instead of blood
And when it bleeds              it's like the sun

Those aimless roads             they end with you
A moment's touch                to fill me through
Drowsy eyes                          and still I gaze
Reach to your chest              perhaps too late

i am in a haze today. it is cloudy and beautiful outside. it is also pressing down on my chest and i struggle for air. i wore your shirt to bed last night and it helped steady my oxygen supply. i wish you were here to say my name and speak to me in my native tongue to remind who i am and where i've come from. i'm forgetting everything, slowly. recreating yourself is only good when you haven't done it five thousand times over. i just want to be me now. but how do i become me if there is no you? pick me up from the library and walk me to class. hold my hand and tell me that you will stay with me no matter how grey the sky is or how cold my fingers feel.