Ragged black or ruddy red,
white cotton balls,
in one of these forms,
dangling atop,
waiting to burst & downpour
its aqueous mass
or awaiting for sun to set
to reflect the essence
that it holds,
or in its real cast,
purest pure!
up, above & very high
it floats across horizon
like a rover or a seeker,
thus,
perpetually moving along
stillness is not its course,
home it has none,
moves in a caravan,
sometimes in horde,
& then all alone
scattered in pieces at times,
and then,
bundled & dense in yet another,
relishing the sojourn,
more than the destination
creating impressions
or leaving impressions,
on the onlooker
amused with its many forms,
charmed by reflections multitude,
I wonder - creator or
the creation itself is beauteous
to the extent that I am bemused!
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