Wings of Cloud
It's a cosmic dance,
not like the sudden clattering of
melancholic pearly beads on the floor,
but in great happiness, rhythmically,
almost in silvery joy,
the first few drops of rain
get dissolved in love of the river,
journey as adventurous as life,
flowing from an unknown world
to an unknown distance,
forming strong bonds with strangers!
That happiness is not unknown to the grey heron,
crossing the chest of grey sky,
not unknown to us who move on and on
from the point of differentiation to the point of unison,
from faction to the conception of whole,
from cruelty and hate to ecstasy of love,
before darkness engulfs the whole.
Looking upwards could you say,
when grey wings have become wings of cloud?
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