Storm-A poem

 I

A storm rears itself in the distance, I feel it,

Like a snake preparing to strike at its prey,

Soft whispers at first, a  hint of touch on the

Skin, the mistaken brush of a feather against

the face, a caress of fingers on the lips, casual,

Lingering, a memory of something forgotten!

The storm holds its breath for a moment, I feel it!

The static crackles against the hairs on my arms,

A tingling thrill shoots through  my spine like the

Anticipation that precedes an important meeting,

A palpable sensation, an apprehension of events 

To come, fear of impending gloom striking the gut.

The storm rears releasing its pent up strength, I feel it, 

A susurration, faint, yet bold, insistent and strident,

Nagging in the mind, of dangers both real and unreal,

Like the sixth sense of a deer that warns it of danger,

Even as it is stalked by a hiding Tiger or a lion, a

Sensation one might feel in the deep of night.

The storm rushes forwards from a distance, I know.

It is an insistent, approaching vibration that shakes

The very foundations of the place where I stand, like 

The tremors of a quake, persistent, palpable and 

Real. A feeling arises, of weightlessness and loss

Of steadiness, felt on the deck of a tossing ship.

II

The storm approaches, a mass of spirits and demons

Wailing and screaming unleashing their force

On an unsuspecting, sleeping host. It uproots

Homes and trees, dreams and hopes, lovers from

Promises of never-ending togetherness! Madness

And violence unleashed, I knew it would come!

It is on us, the storm, a fearful dirge of pain and

Suffering unleashed with the utmost fury, blinding

Bolts of lightning shoot pulses of raw energy

Freezing time and movement in a parody of

Action, a world stunned into inertia, a paralysis

Of movement even as the storm rages around us.

It hovers above us, the storm - hurling buildings

And trees, people and ships like an enraged bear

Tosses its enemies around. The untamed wildness

Of a beast that knows no pity or pain, except to feed

The furnace of its rage, to consume and pilfer hope

And faith and instead spew destruction and limbs.

It moves away, the storm, leaving in its wake a 

Trail of destruction, like a bulldozer trampling

Everything under its wheels and then moving on

To its next destination with scant regard to what

Has been done. Madness has been raging around

Robbing us of the warmth of love and kindness.

III

A coldness gathers over the world even as the 

Storm has passed away, people salvaging the

Remains of their live's achievements like rag-

Pickers sifting through garbage bins. They look

For a few signs of hope from crushed dreams, a

Warmth, perhaps, something to put them to sleep?

Stillness now reigns over the world, even as the

First signs of spring appear, new shoots of green

Poking from the shattered earth, a hint of colour

From blasted trees, perhaps even the whisper of

A song sung in the distance, a desire for renewal

In a world that hungers for love and kindness.

In the midst of the chaos of a world destroyed

By a savage storm, appears the lusty howl of a

Hungry infant demanding more milk from his

Mother, and she, the loving one grants him his

Wish, chiding and scolding him playfully. The

Storm that wreaked havoc might have left a gift.

A warm wind gathers in the distance, I feel it,

Soft murmurs in my ears, a soothing hint of joy,

A ruffling of hair, like the fingers of one, so loved,

Caressing with tenderness, so unlike the raging 

Wrath of the storm, to heal broken hearts and spirits.