Clouds, the white fluffy cottons,
That float on the cerulean sky,
Aaah… a lovely sight to watch.
When they turn black,
They invite the rains,
To quench the thirst of the earth and its mortals.
Are all clouds like that?
But there was once a black cloud,
That didn’t bring in drops of water,
But a nuclear disaster.
Dropped from a height of 31,000 feet,
The Little Boy from Enola Gay,
Created a dark mushroom cloud,
That rose to a height of 60,000 feet,
And just melted and fused every metal
And the flesh just got vaporised.
The rage of the cloud didn’t end there,
The effects were felt years later too.
Fatal cloud that it was,
Under which, Hiroshima ceased to exist.
Clouds, the white fluffy cottons,
That float on the cerulean sky,
Aaah… a lovely sight to watch.
When they turn black,
They invite the rains,
To quench the thirst of the earth and its mortals.
Are all clouds like that?
Image by WikiImages from Pixabay
Good one Kirti👌🏻
Very nice, how beautiful you’ve scripted it ..👏👍
My god Kirti.. writing it for sure surprising 😮 i was reading this initially thinking of it some sort of a romanticization poem and the way it took turns has definitely made me appalled!
Beautiful
Thank you Prasanth