A storm clatters on the roof, the sky manifests a disquiet,I sense a shiver of fear, as the door rattles,windows flounder, threatened by the winds of change;
The cracks on the glass are analogous to a spider’s web, contrived to entrap the innocent minds;
The innocuous corners, Hides the ghosts from past,And from the stygian rises ,the might of a dreamy light;
I observe the moon It is yellow and tired,There’s a clamour, there’s a noise,but there’s silence, that magnifies the pitch dark night,to oppose the malice,the sky camouflages, the stars in its bosom;
Occasional thunders greet my smiles,breaking the ennui, The heart that sinks, with the unvarying sound, echoes with a cheer, “The rains are close by, I smell the petrichor”!
The battle is incessant exhausted and exasperated hope is losing its birr. The mind, in its tepid mindfulness,asserts, “night is about to end, the clock is ticking at its pace, hold on a little longer”.Pain unapologetically grave.
The mess is getting messier, Faith is dwindling,But the tempo is calmer, My stubborn prudence, will not give in, I know,It has dug its heel in, and waits with patience on its palm;
Storm in its clumsiness, slips into the lap of the morn, And dawn lulls it into a peaceful slumber.Through the cracks, left by the massacring night,Hope, the radiant hope tip toes, to fill the sky with a pink blush. Adorning the royal cloak, the sky, once again, sings a rune.