The Sky

There are days when I look up —
and the sky feels alive,
like a heartbeat spread across infinity.

It wears a thousand colors —
gentle blues of peace,
rose golds of dawn,
and the deep velvet of secrets whispered at night.
It is the oldest poem we know,
and the truest listener we have.

When I was a child,
I used to think the clouds were ships,
carrying lost dreams from one heart to another.
Now, grown and burdened,
I see them as reminders —
that everything drifts,
and nothing stays the same.

The sky has watched me through everything —
my first laugh,
my first heartbreak,
the nights I prayed without words.
It never answered — but it never turned away.

Some evenings,
when the sun sinks low and the air glows gold,
I feel as if the sky is speaking in light.
It tells me, softly:
“Even endings can be beautiful.”

And when thunder roars —
when the rain writes its furious poetry against the world —
I stand and listen.
Because storms too,
have lessons in courage.

The sky is not just above us.
It lives inside us —
in the spaces where hope refuses to die,
where dreams refuse to fade.

Look up.
There is no ceiling to your becoming.
No limit to your light.
No boundary to your story.

The sky does not ask permission to be infinite —
and neither should you.

Thanks for reading 😊