The sky looked like a palette of different shades of blue colouring its expanse. The green trees dotted the pretty horizon. The morning was as perfect as could be and the sky looked as deep as a sea.

It’s so rare that the sky doesn’t reflect what one is feeling inside. Look up at the sky, not to search for something, but just for the sake of looking, and before you know it, the silent thoughts tip toe their way inside your brain. Maybe, it’s our own emotions that are thrown back at us when we look up or maybe it is really the gigantic backdrop to our earthly stage that is influencing our thoughts and the simplest of details in our lives.

On a bright and sunny day, it’s very easy to feel hopeful and blessed, when everything looks so peaceful and calm that we can’t help but let go of all the grudges. The bright light and the mesmerizing butterflies blind us to the griefs and pains of our existence. On such a grand and magnificent day, one can’t help but feel as beautiful as the surroundings.

But there are some days when Zeus is at his acute temper. On such days, no one escapes his wrath. The dark sky and the rumbling clouds create an intense and horrifying yet beautiful atmosphere. There’s something so scary yet sublime about the sky that we’re inevitably drawn towards its varying shades of grey. The moment a bright streak of lightening illuminates the dark lining of the clouds, we stare in awe at the ferocity of nature at it’s rawest form. In the enraged clouds we spot faces and in the dark sky, we bury them.

But, I believe it is the cloudless sky that hurts the most. For it’s the one that let’s your mind wander off to the painful and the forbidden vaults of memories. There is no escaping when it comes to a still vastness of blue. There is no lightening, no cloudy faces or beautiful butterflies, there’s just you. You and your thoughts. And never had I seen demons till I looked up at the barren sky. Now, I’m haunted!

Here’s an epiphany,

Wouldn’t it have been great,

If horses were red,

The skies pink

and the elephants yellow?

And how would the sun look

if it were purple,

And if black was all that is mellow?

Would the changed world

still have its appeal?

Or will all the beauty,

The changing colours steal?

Is there a colour factory

that churns out these beautiful shades?

Or is it just the way these things are made?

But then, why,

in this rough crayon masterpiece

drawn by a tiny learning hand,

the rules of heaven are rewritten?

Here’s an epiphany,

Wouldn’t it have been great,

If horses were red,

The skies pink

and the elephants yellow?

And how would the sun look

if it were purple,

And if black was all that is mellow?

Would the changed world

still have its appeal?

Or will all the beauty,

The changing colours steal?

Is there a colour factory

that churns out these beautiful shades?

Or is it just the way these things are made?

But then, why,

in this rough crayon masterpiece

drawn by a tiny learning hand,

the rules of heaven are rewritten?