Waking Up

Often

I ask God

why He denied

me a moment 

of silence 

staring at the sky

with clouds floating by

a bird streaking past

the leaves dancing to

a spell of His magic wand

was I that impure?

were my vices so deep?

disallowing censure?

that He left me just

with a pinhole of a window

where even a dream 

can't breath in the

breeze of His own choice?

more often than not

with a patient smile

He tells his child

I am the Santa, y' know

you chose to deny

the pillow underneath which

I could have slithered in

the key to your fistful of sky

your yarn of cotton clouds

that soaring delight

of a bird's flight

the dance of leaves

to the song of silence

as you were too busy 

my child engrossed

in your din of thoughts so wild

and missed that moment

when dreams come true

in rainbow hues

so close to your pinhole yews