Ceiling
I stare at a light blue ceiling.
It’s been there since my life’s beginning.
The painted clouds in the ceiling are still and shy,
make me imagine the peaceful sky,
the peaceful sky as told by a sage,
whose wise words never fade or age.
He warns me not to look out the window,
cause the real sky brings torrent of rain and blizzard of snow.
I heed his warning, but my ears hear raining,
drop by drop, a melody penetrating the ceiling.
I heed his warning, but my heart keeps yearning,
day by day, to embrace the real sky rather than the fixed ceiling.
