you lived across the street on the hill ward side. over there, the sun sank in splendor every evening. I'd often look up at the orange sky and wonder if i'd ever see anything more beautiful.
i lived in a tiny hut with a fig tree growing near by.

On one such splendid evenings i decided to walk up the hills, i was about to lose my little hut as i had discovered cracks on the roof and depleted walls. I suspected that they would be washed down to somethings resembling little mud pools, by the next rains.

You stood there amidst the clouds settling on the slanting trees on the hill top.
I spoke with you and perhaps hoped to share my misery in the fear of losing the only thing i had built.
You looked at me with a strange sort of kindness and appeared majestic- God like.
Took out your shepherd's stick and said " Not unless I poke the clouds".
And i had feared you ever since.