The clouds don't look real, I thought with a sigh,
As I gazed up at the painted sky.
The colors were vibrant, the shapes were so strange,
It felt like a dream, an otherworldly range.
The clouds swirled and danced, in patterns so rare,
It was hard to believe they were really there.
I felt so small, beneath their towering form,
As they drifted and swayed, in a magical storm.
But as I looked closer, I began to see,
That these clouds were more than just imagery.
They held the stories, of a thousand dreams,
Of love and laughter, and endless streams.
And though they don't look real, they are, indeed,
A part of this world, a wondrous breed.
They remind me that life, is full of surprise,
And beauty is found, in the most unexpected guise.
So I'll keep watching the clouds, as they pass overhead,
And marvel at the mysteries, they hold unsaid.
For in their fleeting form, I find a sense of peace,
And a reminder that life, is a canvas of endless release.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem