Clouds

By Suma Bhat

Clouds of despair hang low

Within reach, dense and slow

Not agreeable to a quick dispersal

Unhinged by no weapon, no chemical

They need not a cheery invite

Will surface even when things are right

The clouds obey not a sense of proportion

But, gleefully lynch a happy heart, create commotion

They need not a particular face

Happy, woeful, sinful or chaste

Upon many hearts they chant

Of failure, non-attainment, with scant

a regard for the miles of fulfilment

I pray for an all-powerful sun

That singes the clouds’ life out, to burn

The soot marks of gloom, dark and wan

To dispel the despair, for peace's return

By Suma Bhat