.... and I Will Be Flying On a Broomstick

I heard about the soup made of clouds one fine afternoon over Zoom. I imagined myself drinking it And floating out of my room. Tell me how this soup is made; What kind and how many clouds will I need? Do I look for small wispy clouds or large fluffy ones that look like sheep? Let me just step out to my balcony And pluck the clouds from the sky. Oh dear, I hope I don’t need onions. When the weather is so nice, I don’t want to cry. You said it’s your favorite soup And I would love to make it for you If only we didn’t have to social distance But hopefully, things get better in June. *** AN: A while ago, a friend of mine shared that she was making a simple dish made of eggs for dinner and she called it “Cloud Soup”. I loved the name and it reminded me of a poem from my high school English text book called “Cloud Zoo” written by Norma Gillet. So, I wrote a poem similar in style to "Cloud Zoo" just for fun. 😅😁

I am not fluent in the language of flowers. When I write about them, I borrow from another language and even then, my vocabulary is extremely limited. The neighborhood explodes into colors overnight; there are yellows, pinks, blues and reds everywhere. Spring is finally here. Yes, I am a lazy writer when it comes to flowers. Just like my friends who do not know the Burmese language sees only circles, I see only colors and shapes when I look at flowers. Their meaning and symbolism are lost on me. But recently, there is a flower that has been on my mind a lot. It comes in two shades of pink and it outnumbers other flowers in the neighborhood. These pink flowers seem to be at every street corner I turn and I got curious. What secret messages do they carry? A page on the World Wide Web tells me that I am in the company of azaleas. Did you know that the azalea flower can symbolize remembering your home with fondness or wishing to return to it? To me, home is not a place but a fe