Flashes of Light, in a black tormented sky.
The dark clouds hovering, like passerby’s
The wind that violently blows,
Against your rough, tanned skin,
The sand mingles in your hair,
The scene more like an intriguing film.
The wail of the wind strikes your ear,
You close your eyes,
And spread your arms,
Nothing could equate,
Your love for storms.
You couldn’t explain your fondness,
Neither to them, nor to self. They asked Why
You anxiously waited for the late spring,
For dark clouds to engulf, the late sombre sky.
So you could welcome the danger, dull, dark and creep.
You found the gloom, the flash, and the spark, a tepid retreat.
The trees bending down in salutation,
The claps of thunder, loud and discrete.
This storm commanding an air of bleak,
You sit there spellbound,
No air of confrontation.
The storm with it’s gush of ferocious gale,
Blew away the trees, the huts and roofs,
The massacre and devastation, the ruin that prevailed,
You closed your eyes in absolute content,
You breathed the storm,
While the whole world prayed.
Your white lace dress,
Drenched and dank against your bare skin,
You walk through the bedlam,
Praising the veracity,
Every breath synchronized with the wind,
As you sighed and shook with the regular lightening.
This storm dwelled and resided within you,
Making a turmoil of ecstatic breathlessness.
With every thunder that enraged the sky,
You gasped and heaved for more,
You yearned for the storm to lift you up,
To rescue you from this world forlorn.