The Land of the Clouds

This is the land of the rain
leaving the sun a bitter smile in pain.
No place for him to cast his dazzling shine.

This is the land of a thousand clouds
cotton-candy like: swirl, swing, and dance.
Drawing shapes on the earth surface.

This the land in which fifty shades of grey
has a dark, yet light literal meaning:
the only colours left at the sky's palette.

This is the land where cottony sheeps
mere white specks on a lush carpet.
Roaming around chasing away the sun, grazing.

This is the land of thousand old churches
standing strong in the middle of towns and hamlets.
Challenging the time.

This is the land of the Kings and Queens
This is the land of the raging wind
This is the land of the magical dream.

All the colours left in the sky and the weather,
had enough for me to make me say
the land is the lovechild of Lassitude and Ennui
or perhaps a proof that even God can be bored.
Yet the more I stay the more I realise
it has stolen a deep corner of my tired mind.
Captivating me, endlessly.

*8 July.
On the plane, up above the British Isles, on the way between Istanbul and Birmingham. Edited and posted in Leicester*