The clouds do cry

The clouds tell a different story Each time they gift the thirsty earth With a shower or drizzle. Their broken form, Doesn’t that evoke broken memories? Sometimes? What if they are aware of our pain? But aren’t happy memories also made? When we watch the school-boys jump in puddles? But what if the morning drizzle that made you happy, came from the cloud who was the sole witness to watch that small boy put flowers in his father’s grave? Who are we to render them emotionless? No, say these things, Are they trying to show that How hard it is for us to cry for others? How easily we take things for granted? What if their Love has the power to give birth to a Rainbow? Like ours of a child? What makes them different then? The ancient scriptures did speak of a forgotten bond Where sages looked up at the cloud for unknown signs What if they understood their language? But in the end, what if these are just wasted reflections Of a troubled mind?