→ .::. The Storm .::.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
by TaKiNgS
My late grandfather used to say
There is no storm on a cloudy day
Ignorantly I nodded ; as my eyes were away
Creeping silently beyond the pale roses
Deep into the wildest wild
I say he was the cold ice
While I was the growing fire
With passion among the mountains
My stories were a song for him
A clear sign of his lonely soul
Over absence of love and dreams
Wasted : by his flesh and blood
He reminded me to pray
And throw away his ash tray
As he wanted to live his next day
And celebrate my next birthday
His touch weakened and his hair turned white
Like the trees change in the fall
Soon engulfed in a long drought
Pulled down to earth
And it was the time
I see a storm on a cloudy day
