Turbid Times Poem by Ramchandar Ravi

Pitter, patter, dribble-drop,
All the way from the top,
Where little white clouds gallop.

Miserable, hunched, huddled together,
We sat facing abysmal weather,
Tied to our rock with a tether.

Frantic, furious, sultry, stuporous,
We witnessed an outpour so glorious-
Couldn't the clouds be more parsimonious?

Amidst many a gloomy countenance,
I sat in silent penance,
Lamenting on nature's dissonance.