A Storm

A Storm

Sushama Karnik

Sounds of a distant storm
gathering on the horizon
can be soothing when you hear them
sitting in the cabin on your distant shores.
You watch the horizon, look for the drama of the black and the grey alternating, swaying the sky between a black doom and the blessing of the light,
silencing sounds and spreading the sign--
a storm is coming, a storm is coming. Be on guard; watch your roof or watch from your tower
everything fade, and there is a swinging of colors between just two shades of grey.

The white is banished and the black does not invade.

The sky plunges to fight the waves and the waves, hit by the rage, rise and break, rise and break

Till they quieten; their moment spent as they reach the end

 and merge with the shore, while there is still a storm raging somewhere far in the sky.

The storm is still far away. It may or may not reach the shores.

The waves breaking here at my feet are familiar. They speak my language. Let the storm rage, while I speak to the waves caressing my feet in love to say

That they have escaped the storm and are here to play

With me swaying on my feet

With the memory of a storm seen far away.