Waiting For the Storm
On a drowsy dusk in July the air suddenly stops to flow
the trees seemed stilled fossils, the leaves drooping low.
Western horizon turns a wall draped in clouds on the rise
the thunder splits the slaty sky open taking me by surprise.
The deafening sound tells me the storm would soon surge
the wild winds from all directions would rush and converge.
I go out and stand beneath the swinging tree, not in haste
to turn into a fallen leaf the wind would blow to you, I wait.
On a dreamy dusk in July you run among flowers in garden
the southern wind wafts on your shoulders all of a sudden,
the disheveled swirling hair covers your glazed face in a web.
You dance like peacock courting the dark clouds that wave,
your fleeting feet lift dust in the grey air, you become a gale
sweeping your smile that blazes through the lightning trail.
Burn me, blow me like the drifting leaf resigned to its fate,
give me a place in the shadow of your parted lips, I wait.
September, 30, 2017.
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