The Clouds

The sky is orange
The Sun sinks away
The Trees stand still
As the moon makes it’s way.

The clouds shout silently
Blissfulness from their movement
Drips
Walking away motionlessly
Behind the trees, they
Hid.

Soon, the lamps are
Lit
The trough of the evening lies
Far away , the clouds move
To a place that is their
Paradise.

The clouds don’t talk much
They are exhausted
After the day,
Observing the world below
Without a whisper,
Quietly, they fly away.

The birds are all in their nests
The Sun has finally set
Roaming around peevishly
The clouds now have to rest.

Trapped in the logic
The rational being
Much later I see the clouds
Is actually a bird
Flying to make its destiny.

Up above, they fly
Taking various forms
Aiming union with the formless
Moving from the world here
And that beyond.

Flying away to a place
That is far far away
The bird shaped clouds
Soar
Breaking boundaries of nationhood
Like a lion
The clouds
Roar.