I didn’t listen…
Far too busy mingling,
regrettable now.
Invincible love
don’t stray away from me please
Mend my broken heart.
Twinkling eyes calling
tugging at my heartstrings now
Old summer ending.
Andrea Fernandes
Our rustic life #1
Thatched umbrellas snapped open.
Our village, our home already in pieces, broken.
The sky darkening into an ugly shade of grey,
Desperate for attention, ranted and raved.
Blotched and boiling with fiery rage,
Biting cheeks and knees (as if confining us into a cage)
Heavy sobbing and shuddering,
Thrashing, wailing and smothering.
Silencing the squawking migrating cranes,
It shot arrows of fear so cleverly well- aimed.
Swollen tears and destruction at its wake
Effortless done, in fact, a piece of cake
A torrential downpour with droplets
Like incoming bullets.
Hell bent on tasteless revenge,
The sky gleefully happy to see our world drenched.
The clouds churlish and smoky grey, brooded in the air,
All the green shoots below uprooted (this was its lair)
Again, the air cackled to life
Silencing our whispering and mumbles with a sharp knife.
Pitter, patter, pitter, patter- a monotonous melody.
Streaks of lightening arrived tentatively.
Only a blanket of silence, almost tangible, remained,
As we tried futilely to keep sane.