Clouds

Drifting by in cottony lumps
they spoke a language of their own;
of nudges and collisions
and rumbles and thunders.

It was a dialect of subtle peace
infused with secrets and mysteries,
of observations and conversations,
and of realizations and contritions.

From white to blue to grey to black,
to the occasional pinks and yellow oranges,
the transitions spoke depths and miles
of their intertwined emotions- from gloom to glow.

Some small and isolated,
some large and social,
some quiet but lonely,
some loud yet desolate,
all of them falling prey
to the incessant hands of judgement.

If only they realised
that it was the largest clouds
that caused the most destruction
and the quietest ones
behind whom the rainbows shone.

However, little did we realise
that the language was not unknown,
For it was the exact same one
you and I use everyday
the language of life :
the words of the mind
the sentiments of the heart
and of all the million conversations
we never had the courage to have.