A Wandering Cloud

I am a wandering cloud, 

Wearing the shoe

Of disarrayed dream, 

I come outside to pick 

The bus of the sky. 

Witnessing my delay, 

Bus leaves me

And sitting on the aeroplane

Of the wind, 

My naughty mind sees the earth. 

It sees the beauty of the river, 

The green sari of the tree, 

The shyness of the curvy roads of the village. 

Yes, 

I see the return of the morning to home, 

The black hair of the evening, 

The youthfulness in the body of the night. 

Yes, 

I witness the rose

And her ardent over, the dew. 

At last, 

I return to become the rain

To wet the hearts of many

And the souls of many.