The storm

The storm
Memories of a hurricane when I was living in Bombay. Thinking of people in the US at this time.

The storm is bared with bitter teeth,
As windy shrieks torment;
The sinking day is ravaged
The night is fully rent.

Within the howling arms,
we shudder to the floor;
Close mind and eyes to sight
And pray for peaceful dawn.

The shattering of windows
With glass in vicious dance;
The timber splinters wilfully
As homes are torn apart.

In small and shivered huddling,
We know ourselves as borne
On arms of deadly wondering,
As Mother Nature yawns.

The eye is hard upon me,
The mouth spits vicious breath;
The storm in violent birthing,
Creates, destroys and rests.

And in the silent endings,
As whispered words are held,
The living drag back into life
And death rings mournful bells.

The night has fallen into day,
The storm into itself
And life returns to broken calm;
Where order creeps in stealth.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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