Regrets Poem by Dosvedanya Rashia

So like the clouds are dreams,
Which we raise up in hope
Seeming far away until
You wake up in the cool fog,
And feel the dampness on
The paper that you wrote.

The script of life so laden with
The pencil marks of wishes
Rubbed out again and written with
Renewed anticipation.
But oftentimes we paint with ink
On pale porcelain dishes

The stains from which
Do not come out, although
They drown, with the shining
Salty rain of bitter, rising clouds

Gone only when, into the earth
The clay of man sinks down…
Moistened by dreams, bearing
Likeness… to the clouds.