July 2, 2016
Miss Fickle Sky has changed color,
Yet again. Azure just minutes back,
She’s acquired a queer pallor.
Undecided on what to wear,
(Usually, she dons multi color)
Today, it seems that she wants to go
Like a pious mourner,
For the varied shades of gray and black.
She pulls on a billowing cape
Made of some dark cloud.
‘It still fits rather well!’, she thinks
Way below her residence,
(A high rising one, I must say),
A ragged man, scorched by the sun,
Looks up at the sound.
The thunder that made the wrinkled eyes
Twinkle with hope,
Though crass and loud to us,
Is music to the half-torn soul.
He’s been waiting for that melody
He’s been waiting with bated breath
He’s been waiting for the heavens to sing
Since the cruel sun pushed him half to death.
He now gives a joyous yelp.
He’d dance if he knew how.
He dashes to his house to tell
His own, what he heard just now.
And then they all come out and sing.
They’re smiling after a year.
They know now who is coming.
The happiness is too much to bear.
She hears the commotion down below
She smiles within.
For her to hear these happy sounds
A year, it has been.
She knows she made the perfect choice,
Of donning the black cape today.
She knows she needs to leave; she can’t
Hold them up longer, anyway.
You go on, you black clothed angel,
Bring smiles and light hopes,
Bring back the vibrancy of your seekers.
I will not hold you back anymore.
Who says there is no wonderment
To be found in life?
I think I’ll sit in my balcony
And watch your tropical magic unfold!