I climb one step at a time,
over precipices and steep ledges,
I see -
some flying on the back of mighty winged birds,
for others, ladders dropped down.
few got a chance to ride rockets into the sky,
and, few are given magic carpets to ride.
Everyone's path into clouds is different.
My body is weary from the climb,
and the blisters on my hand have sunk in.
I don't remember what I looked like when I started,
and, even who I was.
I ask myself - Am I supposed to be in the clouds after all?
There are no rockets or carpets.
Neither ladders came down,
nor any birds that will carry me.
But, even if all these fail me,
I believe in the almighty hand,
on the top of this mountain.
waiting to haul me up in the clouds.
Then I will know -
I am supposed to be in the clouds after all.