Letter to the Sky


Dear Sky,

How are you?
I hope you are doing fine.
I am writing this letter to tell you that lately, I have been missing you.
Just today, I saw you passing by like a stranger; are you angry with me? I know that it has been long since I last sat and read a book with you but you could have stopped by and said a hello; you didn’t.

Dear Sky,

Do you remember the night, when clouds in your bones slid down my spine like children gliding through a swing;
when I woke up next day with a morning on my skin and flowers blooming in the center of my heart?

You know, on certain days, the blue of you had filled the voids in me.
I thought it was sadness. But I believe you were trying to fill me up with the colors of you because I spotted a little of violet and red too.

And on some days, you silently whispered, ‘you are a rainbow I reflect’ and I would happily agree with you, calling you my mirror as both of us giggled.

Dear sky,

Trust me, when I say that I miss you because the turbulence in you often looked like the confusion in me, creating tsunamis which I would hold together, tight, letting my world stay intact.

Do you also think that I am like you, homeless? Because on certain days, everything felt like home, while mother said, home is a place like no other.
Maybe my heart has fires of hundred little hearts to feel like home everywhere. Or perhaps, it is not me but you, sending your warmth to me.

Dear sky,

Sometimes I think, that it is you who is my better half, as my soul expands in each direction, spreading its arms and legs, extending its palms to knit together the universe I call myself.
Sometimes I think, we are just mirroring images, you reflecting me and I reflecting you; the vast expanse we build together, the galaxies and cosmos fearing our existence.

Dear Sky,

I can connect umpteen syllables, to sing umpteen rhymes for you, sending you poems up there, so that you can send them to people in need. We together can be the world’s shenanigans, spreading happiness.
Okay, let us do this. I write to you, and you write to the universe;
your soft clouds curling around our skin, your thin air forming our fragile bones, your blue creating pyramids of hearts inside us.

But before we do that, let us discuss it on a date? I will read out Whitman to you while you sit and sip through my coffee; oh I remember your choices.

Signing off,
– R.


The picture in this blog belongs to the blogger.

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