It is a dull blanket
A dirty white like a shawl across the sky
Its shadow projected upon the dry earth
While daylight is thinning.
The parched earth is filled
With much expectation
Its undying thirst
About to be momentarily quenched.
Yet the heavens do not share this joy
A monotone of moaning and rumbling
Set against the background
Of a sorrowful atmosphere.
Serene but sad,
The silence is hollow
The air, once filled with vibrant life
Is reincarnated as a stillborn.
The wind begins to howl
Like a wolf baying for the moon
From above, a monstrous cackle
Evokes nightmarish thoughts of witchcraft.
This gloom, suffocating as it is,
Hypnotizes all life around,
Enticing all into a state of depression
Robbing the world of its colour.
There is one final manifestation
Of the emptiness embodies in this scene:
A swarm of celestial tears falls from the sky;
Messengers of the Lord's sorrow.
Anish Pratik Yayavaram of XI - A
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