M  Y  S  T  I  C  E  T  I

I have looked at clouds

from various windows,

rooms, hallways, and cities -

but none were as interesting

as what I used to see

from that classroom

hiding behind the trees.

​

We sat on the third floor

while the clouds hid

along the window grills,

playing peek-a-boo was their favorite, and

daydreaming was my thrill.

​

They were like water -

took the shape of my mind’s

fantasy, until the science teacher

bonked me on the head

and scolded, ‘They are made of water,

You stupid!’

​

If they are made of water,

then tell me -

why, on gray-colored afternoons

they look like my grandma?

And why, on honey-colored evenings

the clouds look like samosa?

Why do they look like the boy

who ignored me on purpose?

Why do they look like the memories

I forgot cause of life’s rush?

​

For a long time, the clouds

were black, either passing by

or non-existent; even though

bright shone the blue sky.

​

For a long time,

clouds lost their meaning

even as I gazed afar.

But these days I can make out

an ice cream or a friend,

and I know

it’s not over yet, so far.

i see calm

you see an outline

i see hope

you see an eel perched on a cloud

i see a smile

you see a flat line

 

Disposition is a funny thing.

 

Where you see the sky

i see the recesses 

of my mind.