MusingsPoetry

Thunderstorm — Me

The sky looks so grey like the coal miner’s handkerchief,
Booms rolling across the valley,
The air is so thick like a cemented brick,
Boughs of tree swaying strengthen gust,
Muttering thunder from the blackened sky,
Sweet saint of the bitter storm.

I am here, the owner of your soul.
I am here to take you to a journey of no return.
Without permission, to hold your breath forever.
To stop pumping blood.
To degenerate your living cells.
I am here to take you to your new home.

I am the cessation of all your biological functions.
I am the august visitor you never wanted.
I am the bringer of sorrow.
I am the enemy of your loved ones.
I am the lover of your life.
So, don’t ask who I am when I knock.

Tell your friends to take your photographs,
‘Cause your beauty, I’ll decay.
Tell your families to save your fragrance,
‘Cause your smell is about to disturb their nostrils.
Tell the world to hug you,
‘Cause to bone, I’ll turn you.

I know you’ve tried to evict my coming in many ways,
But still, here I am.
I heard you told your neighbor you’ll each other see tomorrow,
But I’m not sorry I have taken you forever.
I am created to feed on you,
And to live happily with the howling cries of your loved ones

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