Thunderstorm Poem by Sharbaniranjan Kundu

I was in the portico.
She passed the road by.
A perfect lass.
Mid height,
medium built,
and tan complexion.
In blue jeans
and a pistachio shirt
with a purse hung from the shoulder
and held tightly in the armpit.
I just glanced
and looked a just a little harder.
Who? From the neighbourhood!
I would have looked away just a little later.
But she shot a lightning from the eye
turning hither.
Pure spice!
I was baffled.
Having crossed the middle age
I just appreciated
that epitome of smart femininity.
Was there? Was there a little twitch
in the chest region inside!
I wondered.
Languid days are suddenly crowded
by lightning, thubderstorm and squall
to freshen up the horizon of life.
Shall I or shall I not wait
for lightning to strike again? !