Clouds are smoke of a burning sea.
They get in your hair in the jungle
When trees burn and climb a sky.
Trees are green sea below clouds.

They are vapor to please moody sun.
A sea burns too to please angry sun
Empathetically, its bosom heaving
In waves , somewhat platonic love.

Smoke happens on the street fires,
Near boss trees who shed their love
In leaves, scooped up by old women
For money to keep stomachs going.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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