The Air.....

Caring the wandering clouds is my job, When they swell as the body builder's boob, When each molecule escapes from the bond, To elope with the dust and the mist, I lift them up to reach their fantasy land, Where they have their romp as much as they like, The rushing noise from the feet of their path, Though audible not reached to the drums of the truth, The migrating birds sing their own hearts out, Fluttering their wings to the tune that I hum, Holding the whip that lashes in all directions, Three hundred and sixty is too small and a fraction, Escaping from the capsule is an unbelievable notion, Where I am deemed to be a shepherd with a wheel, Which pierces through the membrane and the tubes, Sometimes I am haunted with incense of deserts, Where verses of mirage are layered miles after miles, When I am laced with thick petticoats of glaciers, Millions arrive to my shore to witness the way I suffer, The migrating birds are hopeful to settle on the trees, Where I may cradle them to lay their colorful eggs, The kind gesture of mine may be found, not when one alive, But When I leave silently leaving no trace and signals.