I wish I could live on a floating cloud to see the world from a place high above
Drifting in what would seem like timeless bliss
Moving with the sway of the wind
Life below would seem like a silent movie
Silent but not slow
Fast and all rushed: a movie in fast motion
Crowded and full of traffic
What a rushed existence will be the view
With short moments of break in between
The crisp freshness and coolness of the air above
The serene view of the surrounding sky or even its hazy grey would be quieter than the clutter below.
Such a life of extremities we live below
Everything in excess, wealth, prestige, glamour and glitz
The fine life we call bliss
A fine line away from all the agony, stress, sadness and horrors that it comes packaged in
If we could see our existence from a place high above
We’d see our ‘homes’ for the concrete walls that it is
Our cities the cemented monsters its rising up to be
But if you’d peek a little more intensely
You’d see the relaxed pace our animals live
Free to exist at their pace
Then you’d wonder, why we spend each day as if we running a race, yet we choose our life’s pace
It would be pleasurable this floating cloud of mine
No sounds of agonizing hooters blaring, loud voices of useless banter and cowardly screams , thunderous sounds of music that seems to lose its pleasure in the high drone volume
Or nonstop clinking of metal or the drilling sounds of on-going constructions of yet more levels for the rat race to come
For all this mental anguishes we’ve created,
we turn to the subtle sounds of nature as a source of relaxation: Soothing sounds of the waves, or the whales, birds chirping, trees rustling
It all becomes part of nature’s beckoning retreat on which we often spend vast amounts as a treat
I’d love to float over the sea instead and watch the calming hazy blue of the water
Gentle at times, wild at others but still beguiling, relaxing, intriguing…
My cloud is the perfect vessel through which to view the world, be a part of it, and yet escape it.
Alas though, the distinct sound of a car’s screeching brakes brings my head down from the clouds.
Back to the reality that surrounds: this automated bustle we call life.