The cotton clouds gather slowly just above me,
Having gala storm and fireworks at half past three,
Grey veiled granny clouds join the young and white,
Just hide the Matron Sun and her blooms out of sight.
Warm air refrigerated in the open earth's space,
The hearty wind blows swiftly and nicely over the face,
The darkened rooms make me to touch the closed switch,
Gathered cousins hit one another to flash the white light,
Snaky lightening blast the transformer as usual,
Lazy thunder and the blast echo one after,
Tired family start to cry in a short while,
With the splash of water rake through quarter mile,
Bored of crying, whining, shouting and flashing,
The guests disperse for time being until next gathering,
The collected water on the roof top of high rise,
start to flow through the broken gutter as water fall,
sway back to forth to the instruction of winds,
the underprivileged street children come out to have their bath,
just following the shower of water on its path.
Beautiful description of a storm from beginning to its full expression.
How sad life is for some in the third world, so well written here.
You can play with words(as you can do it with your own emotion) so nicely that your poem becomes awesome.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the storm in the sky, and the storms in people's lives... you paint this picture well!