Clouds Have Always Been Women by Nanki Kandhari
Clouds Have Always Been Women
Nanki Kandhari
Clouds have always been women—
braided in softness,
swollen with stories
they were never allowed to pour.
They gather, quietly,
between gossiping winds and forgotten rooftops,
holding storms in their belly
so that the harvest may thrive.
They do not arrive with announcements—
only anklets of thunder,
skirts stitched with rain,
and a scent like old lullabies soaked in soil.
You call them moody.
I call them magnificent.
They grey with waiting,
then split open—gracefully—so you may breathe.
They are mothers
who refill rivers,
lovers
who never…
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