Living in the grayness
we rarely find
a darkest black or the purest white
to be the background of
the sprinkled gold or the pool of blue.
Somewhere in the marshiness
the memories and the desires lie.
The dancing network of light
playing the patterns of life
with its tangled nervous system
and tangible dreams.
The puffed clouds melt to form a rainbow.
Thoughts that remain stacked
one upon another
like those tissue papers arranged
in those packets at the hotels
to wipe off dirt, the evidence of what we ate up.
And to be thrown away.
Oh! The due bill!
And to be reminded of the due bill,
to hurry off, fumbling the inside of the purse.
Once in a way we look up
wondering at the whiteness of the clouds.