White There's something about my city -
Here angels walk through the clouds,
With their backpacks on.
The clouds, that are clinging
On to the eucalyptus leaves,
And are waiting to drip down
At a time of their own.
Here the meadows run up
Till the blue mountains, to get lost forever,
And sings here a river named Song.
Tomorrow, when you are back to your hustles,
Do remember, that a lonely cloud is still waiting,
At some hairpin bend.
It would wait for you to take you to the other side
Of the mystic mountain;
It would wait, till you come back here again.
©Kaushik Ghosh
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