Rain Drops From Sunday's Cloud Poem by Krishnendu Gupta

The sky is cleared
the sun is out
with its flare trimmed
the tone is loud.

The trees wearing smile
bought at cheap cost
birds flying high up
without looking lost

Yet after the closing act
some sombre cloud stayed
peeking under the horizon curtain
keeping an incognito face

Selfish winds blowing gibberishly
swinging moods here and there
privileged ones strode royally
sombre ones were scarce

soon the infernal trumphet
of morning hustle flickered
with it the hoax hope
of bird, trees went into abyss

The echo of silence
resonated through the moor
desolate face of sombre cloud
reappeared out of the blue

with no eyes objectifying it
crawled onto the stage
projected its shallow glory
through its pain stricken tears.