Could I Have A Pair Of Wings? Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

The mattresses of clouds,
beneath the open void,
spread with chick's,
fallen feather, just white,
moving gently as the,
frocks of the junior kids,
a pot of gold dust,
dropped from the chest,
of the metal smith,
shades of the fruits,
dipped in orange and apples,
when the shutter not closed,
can't open the doors of the eyes,
smell of this bed of clouds,
not yet known to all human,
sweet odor of the soil, and the sweat,
after depositing,
some in the ocean,
touch of it not known,
may be as silky as the,
conditioned tresses of,
immature lass and lads,
Give me a pair of wings,
I would like to fly and find.