Alexa Daskalakis
Notes on what it means to be human—
written from the edge of time, memory and silence.
The Cloud Who Asked Too Much
A brief departure from my usual work – a simple piece, a small reflection on innocence and the questions we stop asking. For children 10–14, and for the adults still looking up.
I asked a cloud,
“Are you rain pretending to float,
or sky pretending to cry?”
And the cloud asked me,
“Are you small pretending to be big,
or big pretending to be shy?”
“Are you kind with angry thoughts,
or angry with kind intent?
Do you wander just to find,
or find just to repent?”
“Are you brave because you’re fearless,
or fearless ’cause you hide?
Are you chasing what you love,
or what you’re told to find?”
The wind laughed softly through the blue.
The sun said nothing new.
And I said, “Cloud, I only asked—”
but the cloud had questions too.
So now I watch the sky and smile,
when gray and gold collide.
I’ll never ask a cloud again—
but I still wonder why it cried.