Saturday, June 3, 2017

Glory Sasikala writes


It was just a very dark day.
Once again, Mithilah, the scamp, had run away.
Once again, to the urge within her to yield -
To the loud, insistent voice of the open field.
From her place on the hillock, she then took a stance,
And gazed scornfully at the village at a distance.
With every door against the ominous day closed -
Not understanding why they were to being cooped up, disposed.
A few dry leaves came flying with the breeze towards her,
Enmeshed themselves firmly on her whipped back hair.
She put up a hand on her head, the leaves there to find
But shivered and crossed arms against a sudden gush of wind.
She thought to herself, “But how deliciously cold!”
Sensed a brewing storm as she felt the smell of wet earth unfold.
All of a sudden it seemed the day grew very dark indeed!
And darker and darker - till a little light was all Mithilah’s need.
And all was still. Nothing stirred - not even a single leaf.
From the suffocating silence, Mithilah prayed for relief.
They all seemed to be waiting. In silence, and in fear - waiting.
 One, two, one, two, she could hear her heart’s rhythmic beating.
Then all at once a strong, powerful swirling funnel of wind
Picked her up like a frail twig and threw her down the end.
She rolled and rolled over till she hit a boulder
And went down on her haunches as her instincts told her,
Rolling into as tight a ball as she could,
Praying that the boulder shield her - though doubting it would.
The rain came pelting down her back in a ruthless cruel rage!
Pounding! Pounding! In a diatribe so foul and hard to envisage!
It sought to clarify, against her truancy was its motion
Though punishment against charge was all out of proportion. 
Suddenly a bright light lit up the dark sky
And there was the crackling sound of a tree hit high.
Even as the tree fell with a sickening thud
A deep rumble sounded from the angry throat of God.
Mithilah clung to her knees for all she was worth
Praying to God Almighty! Praying to Mother Earth!
The world had somehow gone darker than it had been then
And she more cold and wet than she had ever been!
She held the same posture till not meaning in the hours
When time stood still betwixt the ‘is’ and the ‘was’
It rained all night and through the next day
Till rain and wind decided they had had their say
And only then did Coward Sun even dare to peer
To see if they were all gone and the coast was clear,
Then jauntily stepped out to shine - on everything alike -
The ones in safe havens - and cyclone’s chosen ones to strike.
But to those like Mithilah, the Sun in any state
Made no difference - for it came a day too late.

 Image result for cyclone paintings
Cyclone Sire -- Igor Kieryluk

No comments:

Post a Comment

Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?