Minakshi Devi
Little by little, the rumble wears down.
The horrendous thunderstorm,
Atrocious and restless,
Which once felt like it would never break,
Promptly switches into its tender form.
It’s gloomy.
That's the thing with drizzles,
They are sombre.
Creation enwrapped in an innate despondency.
Tiny droplets observe a void,
Detached from their womb.
Devoid of empathy,
Sinking, Fading,
While the world around them rejoices.