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
