The sky is open and welcoming;
The cloud turns it into a moving news:
Stories about floating hopes,
Of time lost in a whimsy,
About time-waiting hopelessness,
Hanging on a thin line—the divide
Between rising aspirations
And declining expectations.
As aspiration yearned into moonlight,
Hours before the coming dawn,
Fresh with expectations
Wrapped around every living thing,
Everything breathing but gasping
For fresh overconfident air.
“Don’t ask me how fresh”,
But everything felt it, took it in.
The discerning morning knew,
Like the morning’s light,
That a new day wears earnestness
On its face as a badge of honor.
So how prepared, how ready
Is your load of spirit, your agency?
And will—willing to embrace the urgent light
To push up the sky’s limits?
And if you see this urgency before me
I’ll wait for the moving clouds
With their smoking news of hope
And sorrows kissing every face.
