When the season lingers at the Passover,
 in the day the time is heavy.
The cloud knows how it feels
to be drifting in sky and yet believe
you are solid gold
touched by the magic
 in the sleight  of hand
 of the migrating sun.

I watched two clouds,
one a mass of white, turning grey,
and the other a wispy one.
 like a thread of a candle smoke,
 smiling soft and dim.
Luscious pink adorned its edge
like a silver obelisk in an aura of light.
Lifting both and changing their shape
was the wind which played behind.
And I watched the twain

How gladly the clouds fleeted past
even as they floated,
 knowing
 the moment wasn't going to last.
In the playful dance
 they brought back to me
my love of lights and shadows,
my love to seek a name
for the gossamer shades of  colors,
even as the night tiptoed close on their heels.
@# SUSHAMA KARNIK
Aug 23, 2018