Cloud

It is really sad or is it?
That I come from a land of clouds?
My hair is always ruffled,
My kohl is smudged,
My dreams cocktailed and confused

And you still hold me like you are responsible
To fix and mend my kohl-smudged dreams
You are fascinated
By the kohl in my eyes
My rubble of thoughts and cloudiness

But I am just a rag picker
I collect rags of surplus thoughts
And all words are borrowed, none are mine
Of what I string to a broken verse

But you find profanity
In aimless thoughts and cloudy eyes
And you wait for me when I drift away
And you tame me like you are responsible

It’s strange of you to want to own
An aimless, straying, rambling cloud
But it’s stranger for a cloud to belong
To a single mind, body and soul.

We all come from a world of clouds. Sometimes a cumulus meets a nimbus. Then they become a cumulonimbus, the greatest of all clouds.

I feel like a walking, talking corpse. For long, I have not lived. I feel like shit.