Chrysalism
As the singing birds slowly disappear,
The rolling of thunder grows forceful and near,
The gust of wind, pushed by clouds,
Assulting trees, forcing them to bow
The bushes flatten by invisible giants,
The fields of green turn to carpets of rippled glass
Not a sound other than the rustling of leaves,
Not a movement other than waving trees,
And the creeping groan of waking thunder
Ephemeral branches of light shatters the atmosphere,
Followed by resonating rumbles
As torrents of rain drops fill the air,
Hitting the earth in waves of mist
While here I am, enjoying the view of all of this
- Zuhal Muradi
- Zizzy M.