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.