THE FIRST TIME I FLEW

The first time I flew,
I was seated on the window side.
Ground less and dust less,
It was almost like a bus ride.
I peeped out, I saw clouds floating.
As white and irregular as ever,
But closer, and this time
I was the one watching over.

Like in a boat in the middle of a sea,
It was all so still, although we did fly,
Blue up and blue beneath,
Nobody could tell where was the sky.
It all looked so unreal, an act.
Like a stage set for a fairy tale.
And through the window, from my eyes,
I was sipping it like an ale.

I can see my wings, but I can't feel them,
I pass through clouds, but can't touch the same.
Is this really flying,
Or just a pretence in its name?

RAIN

Why does it rain? 
Perhaps, for the earth’s pain!

She has withered under Sun’s strokes

 And suffocated by the chimneys’ smoke.

She runs through the breathless space,

  Sweaty, thirsty - moisture has left no trace.

Apathetic, some nonchalant,  

Forgot to water the plant. 

Why do the clouds burst?

Perhaps to quench their thirst.

  The skyscrapers have covered the sky,  

Stealing light from the passers by. 
Why does the lightning strike? 
Perhaps, for a moments light!