After The Flood

On a drowsy dusk in summer the air suddenly stops to flow, the trees seemed stilled fossils, their boughs drooping low. The horizon turns a slate draped with onyx cloud layers, the thunder splinters the falling sky, rattling me unaware. Active El Niño drives on to the land the nimbus cloud, flying on wings of southern wind with moisture laden air. Overcast monsoon sky falls asunder with torrential rain after the unpredictable cloud bursts one after another. The whirlwind steers the swarming squall in rampant rage, from all directions it rushes untamed and devastate. Cyclonic storm swirling scary in the wake of the wild wind wreaks havoc in the low-lying areas with fury of flash flood. Seething in the shuddering ambience of distressing time, in the vortex of turmoil the debris of devastation lies. The verdant vale turns into invisible wreckage immersed, flood-swept flowers don’t see the new sun rise in fallen sky. With leaden heart I wait for the water spread to recede, the veneer of sticking silt to disappear from my meadow, and feverishly hope flowers bloom again in flattened garden, under sapphire sky gleaming out of gloom after the flood.