Poetry

The Thunder

Prose Poem

Incessant rains last night. Thunderstorms raging with sharp and silken and shimmering lightning, spread across the purplish-ashen-black skies… that look like roots of a tree spread across the earth. The roots of a tree are well, roots of a tree… But the pure white lightning streaks looking like wafer-thin roots hanging or sometimes like spiderwebs stuck in the clouds, fading and then appearing… is a treat to watch.

Yet, the thunder is so scary — Its static energy through the purplish-ashen-black skies makes you feel like it will flash on your face or will land on the roof of your beloved house… You don’t want to look at the sky. The noise of it is like a pack of heavy iron drums falling on your head, wobbling up all your senses — your ears aching so much you might as well go deaf… and your hearts beating so fast you might as well stop breathing…

But the thunder continues its antics, scaring some already-scared human beings like me, each time, with its thunderous applause!

© A.H. Mehr — April 2022 (All Rights Reserved)