The day turned dark, the winds got wild,
Commoving feelings, numbing souls
On India’s hills where peeps are mild
With a nature that warms men’s wholes.
The sun grew white, as white as milk,
Beside it hung the sulking moon;
The sky shamed by brewed storms, their ilk
Did let out cries when it was noon.
The rain was strong, it decried pain
Witnessed by folks that bided there;
It fell on roofs and not in vain,
For winds were bested, men made bare.
ALSO READ | Remember Thy Guru
I saw the trees without no leaf,
Beheld were darkened times as well;
My heart then overwhelmed with grief
Did sink deep; no thoughts could it quell.
Ten days have passed, and I await
A sun that shines, a moon that beams;
Will each hill, rill, and frozen strait
Buy the farm as it to me seems?
The men now dead shall wake up soon
Upon lands that might warm their forms;
They’ve seen the bane; it’s time for boon;
It’s time to bid adieu to storms.
ALSO READ | Where Is God?
Categories: Rhythmic and Metric