The storm clouds gathered in droves
Unfurling the darkest canopy
One might ever see,
Sending people rushing back
Into the relative safety of their homes,
But not without a gnawing worry,
Assailing their minds,
Of whether they could withstand,
The fury that would be unleashed,
In a matter of time.

The wind on the ground, gathered force,
To keep up pace with her friends above,
Collecting in her wake, a veritable army,
Of twigs, dry leaves and the finest sand,
The people she met as she ravaged the land,
Held their heads hung low, not daring to meet,
The fierce fury glowing in her eyes.

The people have waited for a long while,
With bated breaths, not daring to tread
Beyond the confines of their stuffy homes,
Whether hours or days, one cannot tell,
For such is the passage of suspended time,
That is lived in anticipation
Of the worst possible destruction,
That can occupy the limits of the human mind.

She waits and watches too,
Like everyone else,
The storm in her belly for once,
Is as quiet as the proverbial mouse,
That graced the dusty pews of God’s house,
Perhaps it is not a storm after all,
When nature shows up,
The pretence must stall.