Rainless Clouds Poem by Sanjukta Nag

River lives outside of faraway windows
Dust is left here with some sharp stones
Maybe some pieces of rosewood too
To build a black Pegasus for you.
But you are no Persius out of heaven
Human hands of yours can't grip a thunder
For invoking the celestial moisture here.
So,  life will feed us bowls of sterile soup
We'll pour dead hopes in cracks of soil
And adopt Futility as our official surname.
While walking down twilight pavements
One day our nostrils will start exhaling fire
To challenge raindrops to breathe upon us.