The timid clouds,
Veil of the moon,
Shroud of the setting Daystar.
Achromatic, yet jazzy in the gleam of crimson.
Evokes the glimpses of grade 2,
The hostel days.
Slightly fair skin, hawk nose, weird short hairs clipped with rolled cotton and a peculiar chin,
That's me, the Indira Gandhi in all the fancy dress contents, muttering the same dialogues, Never had friends in real,used to fantasize different faces in cloud to talk.
There were 4 steps to follow before sleep.
pluck an eyelash if not fallen.
Put on the back palm.
Make a wish and blew it.
Never tell the wish made.
I guess I can now,
All I asked was the ethereal fluffs,
And my warden used to trick me keeping a cotton candy in hand,
The delight. Sugary clouds,squeeze it and it would turn small sicky damp wad of weeping pinky-red. (M.Atwood)
I remember I got the lower bunk,
With a dramatically thin mattress,
Never I ever slept sans dreaming clouds,
But that night it rained,
THE ACID RAIN.
The raindrops passed all the obstacles to reach my nose,
And I sang petter patter with it,
Until heard the one in upper bunk crying after peeing.
Later consoled by Ram or bhoot.
As always clouds come floating to me,
Up on my head.
No longer they're what they were,
Just like the one I was but no more.
All it reminds me is to forget.
All I do is crook a song,
Oo ghata sawari,
Thodi si bawari,
Pa ke akeli mujhe,
Mera anchal(memories), mere haath uljhaye,
Choo le achanak (sorrow)koi,
Lat mein aise mera haath uljhae.
Kyu re badal tune chua kya mujhe?
Teri hi toh galti hai saza kyu mujhe...!