Gorvachove, Keonjhar, 3 June 2024
In the raging storm
The tall trees bend and sway
Waving their branches in the air
Like dervishes praying to an invisible God.
The wind rushes through the fields
Scaring the ghosts in the trembling forests,
Shaking the windows loose,
Singing the song it reserves for stormy days.
After the storm, the grey clouds rest
Gathering the colours they can find
To paint the corners of the evening sky.
The birds, silenced by the thunder,
Find their twittering voices again.
The roads are littered with leaves.
Here and there the wind scatters
The red and orange of Gulmohar blooms.
The calm weather teaches many things.
But the storm also has stories to tell.
I sit down in the darkness of my room
By the window, watching the storm recede.
The cup of tea in my hand is still warm,
I watch the smoke spiral slowly upwards.
After the storm we rediscover
The tranquil beauty of everyday things.
This is the time for revelations and prayer.
I have no Gods to turn to, I seek no new meanings.
In the silence of the darkening universe
I await only the sound of your footsteps.
