A titanic cloud
in the shape of an angel’s corpse
provides respite from the sun
for a moment as I pass it
looking up from my car
from the motorway.
Falling between worlds,
the body is downward facing,
but floats on, for passing it
is passing a living moment.
Which is truer of a cloud:
its passing, or ours?
The colossal corpse
keeps within itself the sun
hidden in the guise of a moon.
Take it back, Shaheed-e-Azam;
why spoil us thus way?
This corpse allows man
to look right back in the eye
the great tyrant of the skies.
Something that without its death
We would dare not do.
But is it worth it?
Promethean cloud, what have you
died for? In holding the sun
you look shot-through and midday
has turned to twilight.
I dream vainly
of being a cloud-ruler,
for the titans are amongst the whole world
And yet, at once, nowhere on Earth.
I’ll drive on and this moment will pass.
Immaterial.
by Kishan Katira
Kamena Magazine 