The clouds

 

 

poem by Ruth Salles

cumulus, nimbus, stratum and cirrus

Watercolor by Mônica Stein Aguiar

 

CUMULUM

- Good morning,
there on the horizon,
I accumulate
forming a mound;

and rise and grow
away from the ground,
taking shapes
in the immensity.

Who's that
king up there,
with a crown
that drips... drips...

and falls apart
slowly
and already turned
a little lamb?

And the king now
it's a ship
with candle and all
in the wild sea

full of foam
that come and go.
What am I now?
Which? or who?

 

NIMBUS

the puffy cloud,
very fat and big,
that rises and that grows,
in the sky it darkens.

It's so watery
that gets heavy.
For everything she advances,
spreads and breaks up.

What a leaden sky!
How dark is the world!
With rays or without,
it's rain coming.

boy outdoors
joked that it was wind,
and that girl
pretended it was gout:

“boom-boom!” and “plim-plim!”,
they go like this.
- Go inside, quickly.
the rain starts!

It's the mother calling,
and the two of them jumping.
But thunder sounds:
“Runaway!” “Runaway!”

And the two go in,
playing and fighting.
- It's the sun that ends!
And the rain comes down.

 

STRATUM

– Who sees me there on the horizon
very long?
Step up behind the hill
of racing.

And I look pretty pretty
on the horizon.
band form, ribbon form,
I form a bridge.

And if the sun is already coming
or leaving,
How many colors am I going to paint?
Oh, how beautiful!

 

CIRRUS

– Up high, high up,
some wool yarn
run after each other
in the afternoon or in the morning.

And at night, even the moon
pretended to run.
I looked from my street,
and that's how it looked.

my father said they are
ice crystals in the sky.
I know that running there
looking like a carousel.

My mother said, "Boy,
look at the rain! Take a try!
Look how thin the air is!
Stony sky, rain or wind!”

 

 

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