Fell in love with these clouds all over again; what if its grey or white,
They carry the same stories of laughter and tears
But its dignity this time in shapes and textures,
And brand new Gospels from angels who are fallen!
They then pour it down with such a deafening roar;
It sounds almost like breaking a dawn in hell,
Drenching me with all of the sins and illusions
They embrace me for I am taken!
Where should I exile with whole of my body covered-
In thick red blood; it’s clogged and dirty now
And I presume, they were a bunch of Murderers
Loved and raised to be merciless; but I am asked to be quiet-
While wearing these bruises; as a mark of their wisdom.
Clouds, these loyal watchers they glide gently, always vigilant-
Sometimes dropping a shadow over you, over me,
And then tearing her bosom light comes screeching-
Seeking the ones to be found; the messengers of Gospels.
For you are here to preach a cavalry of infidels;
Its thousands of similar stories, of rage, of deception, of lust,
Of fear, of greed, of everything but human –
What you can’t breathe, can’t swallow, and can’t be understood at times.
