The sun is there as it is,
It is the clouds play mischief
And we watch with no comment.
Are we in fear?
Are we in anger?
Each one here smiled
Uttering words
Oh, yeah, yeah.
In this sweet morning
We all wear coats
Dark and grey.
At night we are reluctant to
See and verify our faces
With the mirror of the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We never know what to expect from clouds. They keep the sun humble by showing how easily they can dim its brilliance. Or they suddenly can drench us with showers. But they are most beautiful as huge white puffs, floating lazily by, ever changing their shapes. Yes, sometimes clouds are unpredictable, but always entertaining. I enjoyed reading this poem and ruminating on the fickleness of clouds.