Next is Cloud

In spite of
shutting my both eyes
the deal with the light
has still been the same.

Prticles of dust
fly to me
from the archive of effort.

Facing each other
at their leisure...
so much at ease.


Still so much of fear
in the imagery?

Where do all the footsteps of queries
get lost in the seedy fog?

Only the frame is shattered
when the eyesight's path
turns to the sky.

The more ond turns pages
the more fingers caressed by clouds.