Author: Ms Swapna Tiwari, Educator
They asked me to be the sky—
But only the part they liked.
The soft, well-behaved, morning blue,
No storms, no stars, no spikes.
“Keep your colours quiet,” they said,
“Let no lightning cross your face.
No gold at dawn, no fire at dusk —
Just blue, and stay in place.”
I brought them winds that sang of far lands,
And clouds that could dance and bend.
But they frowned at my thunder’s poetry,
Called my weather a thing to mend.
They clipped the wings of my rainbows,
And told my sunsets to wait.
They didn’t want my chaos or calm —
Just something to laminate.
So I stopped drawing with light.
I buried my moons in sleep.
I learned that to be accepted
Was to be still, and deep, and cheap.
But oh — if they had looked closer,
They’d have seen galaxies in my skin.
They’d have heard oceans crashing in my chest,
Felt the wild I kept within.
Now I sit in silent corners,
A sky turned into a wall.
Not because I lack colour —
But because they asked for none at all.
