• abhidha 15w

    It was my fragility;
    That awoke the memoirs of an epoch,
    Breaking the grave of memory lane,
    Where the sky was I, that didn't rain,
    And silence was my only cohort.

    When lightning lacerated the clouds,
    They began to grin at my past,
    When the breeze could never swirl,
    And wings were forbidden to tweet or soar.

    Craving for the fall, to wet my dermis,
    Only arctic tears lurched,
    From the eyes, that were crippled and hematic.

    But as the fragility died

    The heaven no more stayed athirst,
    For the liquid sunshine hailed,
    The birds to soar their wings high,
    And their melodies to enliven the sky.

    The Souls too, were raised from the sod,
    To blithely dance and burst into hymns,
    And synthesize them with bird’s euphony,
    So one could braid these into balladry.

    Now that my oozy skin is no more a desert.
    My euphoric heart greets the rain,
    The raindrops take me into their arms,
    Consenting to my change.

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    I’ve been enlivened by a cloudburst,
    My soul has become one of them
    Now their empire abodes by my rule
    And their sovereignty concedes to our yen.
    ©abhidha