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During the Downpour

During the Downpour

Heaven opened and the water hammered down, reviving the reluctant old well, green-mossing the pigless pigsty, carpet bombing still, tea-colored puddles – Arundhati Roy

Beyond woods and over the mountains,

Ominous clouds have congregated.

The winds in north have swollen,

How mighty trees clutch each other,

Anticipating nature’s fury.

They have become numb and vain.

A swathe of wind comes from north,

Carrying with it a torrent of water.

The rain then lashes on oaks,

Elms and tall grasses that had shot up.

Even the forest cannot hold the passion,

Of water that carries debris,

From mountain peaks to its foot.

In runny rivulets to feed other,  

Green multitudes like ferns and algae.    

Sunflowers and yam leaves nod, 

Humbly and have nothing to say.

Drenched grass is weary from water.

And moss has become thick,

Like a dark parasite extracting,  

Vital sap of trees from their stem.

The poets weep pitiable phrases,

For this utter devastation.

By bringing their metaphors down.

Although a cycle of water,

This downpour taught all kingdoms,

Of the forest to accept the end.

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