Clouds by Seungwoo Lee

The car grinds to a halt

n’ finally finds its place in the midst

of the bustling streets.

In front, steam comes out of the manhole covers,

more alive than untamed fire,

a silent ghost hovering over the land of

lifeless souls.

Through the tiny gaps, the noise of the city slowly

creeps in, like smoke,

and sends echoes louder than the bouncy beats

from my headphones.

I stare out the window,

like an underground prisoner

craving for a glimmer of light.

I see pillow-white clouds,

huddling together n’

filling the empty canvas of the sky.

From a young age, I used to dream about

reclining on those fluffy beds;

I used to dream about

jumping from one cloud to the other,

as though I had no worries,

as though I was light enough to trod the soft stepping stones of the sky.

Springing out from the front seat,

Ma points at one of the clouds,

as round as a birthday balloon.

Look! That one looks like a heart!

She shouts, eyes ablaze with confidence, but

I just see a croissant, fresh out of the oven,

its back bent - slightly - like a sea shrimp,

its subtle smell,

wafting out from the narrow streets of Paris.

Sometimes, I just look up into the sky,

to admire the abundant clouds,

to remind myself of the basic principle of nature - that

a single cloud can have different shapes.

And that the world is teeming with clouds.

We just don’t know it.