Spurts of lightning announcing the Nor’westers rage – the thunder, the storm Kalbaishakhi again comes of age. The whirlwind of dust, scoops up a piece of soul – memories fly up almost taking me a;loft with them. The eyes sting, the tears glisten – is it the dust, or old memories of the city that refuse to rust?

An ear shattering thunder, the angry rumble of clouds – the grays of the sky, looking down as an angry hound. I wonder often, I wonder now, do skies really know when to pour? And then what happens to those birds to decide to defy and soar?

The touch of rain on the parched terrain – life being infused and the joy of the reclused. The tinkle of little feet rushing towards the window, the spluttering of rain drops on the pane. An old telephone creaks, the tea kettle whistles – it amazes me how a secured household live while the ones outside heave!

I open a pane and let the face be drenched, the wind refuses to let me breathe – feels like an estranged lovers kiss. Trying to make up for all those lost moments, taking my breath away. The wind coo’es in my ear, nature welcoming me home – reminding me of unfulfilled promises and the joys that the city beholds.

I look in despair for there’s nothing much left here I say, I lost all charm for you the day you took her away. An estranged daughter hears that old wise laugh – never underestimate the power of promise and love! My soul stirred as a thunder cracked – eye to eye with my worst fear. A blind flash of white light against the black cover – purple , the color of faith was restored.

Where are the stars today Ma – I call out aloud. Just right there whispers the wind, you need to fly to see them – break the shackles of biasness and travel through the last set of adversity.

I almost saw myself acceding as the storm died down – the city bustling let again, glistening sparkling clean – or maybe my vision is blurred!

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