Varun Sivashankar


The Cloud


Pierced by the mountain peaks, so very high,
Directed by the wind in the blue sky.
I travel ‘round the world and everything I see,
Nothing escapes my notice, whatever it may be.
When the birds come, I enjoy their stay,
They come sing to me and then go away.
When night arrives, and everything is black,
I vanish suddenly but I know I'll be back.
The next day comes, and in the morning shroud,
I am visible again, a fresh white cloud.

Submitted: Sunday, March 03, 2013
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