Where the lines don't blur but blend
that is another horizon that needs me to see.
For I have looked at the sky so many times;
taken for granted a monsoon morning sky.
Yet that another horizon drifted lingeringly- patient yet relentless;
waiting yet on its way— to stay or to go it has to decide now.
To see or to look-the choice was always mine,
so I looked and I saw the another horizon in the sky
with grey glowering rain clouds and wistful white clouds.
They blended but didn't blur each other—together yet alone,
the monsoon sky had sketched in charcoal another horizon of its own.