BlacK ClouDs in a White SkY

Everyone sees the white clouds

against the blue sky.

But what about

black clouds in a white sky?

A tear falls in silence,

yet how many nights have poets spent

giving it a voice?

But who listens

to the call of the heart?

On some morning,

happiness falls silently,

like snow,

leaving only sorrow behind.

Even as a part of this entire creation,

how small I still am.

The river keeps flowing.

The birds keep singing.

Yet this story has no completeness,

only emptiness.

I arrive,

I wander,

I fade away.

In this world,

where do I find

the one that is me?

I wander from bond to bond,

afraid of being bound.

Yet why,

on a lonely afternoon,

do I keep searching

for a new door?

Why does the heart stay awake

in the light?

Why does a story descend

into the darkness?

Why do memories

come drifting with the wind?

I am no one

in this vastness.

Then why all this arrangement?

I was lost

so long ago.

I never asked for it,

yet a flock of questions

will remain.

Everyone will see

the white clouds

in the blue sky.

Yet those black clouds

in the white sky

will drift on,

becoming our story.

 I don't really know

whether I should have fought for my love.

Should I be happy knowing

that she is happy now,

or should I hurt myself believing

that she would have been happier with me?

What will this world call me?

A brave man,

or a coward?