Sudiksha Raman

By Sudiksha Raman

A storm one always has to weather

A dying hope, hoping not to wither

Pushing through the clouds of darkness

A sign of light, merely in the blurness

Walking, staggering, trying to reach

A hand stretched out as if to preach

Breathing in and out, heaving

Stealing in the air, thieving

The line of yellow catches the hand

The warmth of yellow surges till sand

The dying hope that cowered in blackness

The dying hope now bathed in hailness

The storm now so clear, sufficed

The journey not long, but felt thriced

Out of the dark came the pain

Emerging was the light in the rain

By Sudiksha Raman