Speaking of tyrants

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I Beg to
Disagree

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Great
Sadness

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Futile Devices

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Turbulence, I think. It's raining here after a long time. The thunder's so bright the night becomes a day for a millisecond. The wind is wild, bending our neighbour's mango tree dangerously down to the parapet wall. I feel my heartbeat in my ear. And the window mat is whipping against the washing machine. Thud! Thud! Thud! My skin became cold and dry, and it hurts. I'm caught in turbulence. Sleep is nowhere to be found. Lost in the rain. Lost in the night. The light in the kitchen flickers a lot. The mat is still thudding. And my eyes are heavy to blink. Me? I feel like a statue; someone else's art, simply drenching in rain.

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