In This Urban Storm Poem by Agatha Eliza

The morning swings and cradles
the lightnings
that act like platinum-coloured coils
generating energy, and flashings
against an opaline sky
making it so comfortable,
so soothing,
so spectacular to watch.


In the wide belly of this storm
the leaves are dancing,
threads of sand are lifted up
swirling,
blending with
the tiny, golden grains
of polen gathered
by bees from
the wild, violet flowers.


On the streets, a bunch of people
quicken the steps; above
their heads, the clouds
send grey shadows
to embrace them, making them
prisoners of the icy drops that
are soon to depart
the harsh cheeks
of this water-born Wickerman.