Neither light nor day can surpass
This tempesting storm,
All eyes succumb to the rain,
All heart has fled into the cerulean soul,
And solely it is the mind
That rains and fumes in turmoil,
Its own black and blue
A decadent sky of cursed memories,
Sentiments turned to acid,
Pouring down, more vile than that
Yet one storm has not the power
Of the tumultuous seasons
To tear apart a land, to leave
A soulless piece floating
Amongst the repaired flood.
Instead, the oppressing heat
And blinding cold capture twice
The world as it was, hold that place
Ransomed to hurricanes and
No apophatic approach to rupture
The very base of this earthly fair.
The brewing incident of chance
Reflects in the mirror-like pools
That glaze and unglaze gradually as winter,
With its beating defences, storms
Upon the frozen body on the ground,
Causing hearts to chill and crack
Along original lines, man-made.
Cracks. The body taut and flees,
Broken, leaves the soul to well up;
Even when absorbing springs thaws
The masses, only then the water flows.
Pitiful pattering, blurred panes
Of sight, the windows washed
With a wave of self-incoherence.
One lake below the chin-point
Of the hill that has fallen,
Settled from two waterfalls,
Hot and crystallised precious with salt,
The pinnacle of the ball of distress.
Drunk, by too much of the weather,
Lies a body beached on the rocks,
Again in solitude,
A single raindrop of the cheek
A fallen mist the better stupor.