Thunderstorms

By Shreya

Pour, pour-

it heavily pours.

My feet in sand

sink deeper, and I move not.

I watch

my impression root itself-

stuck between

rain, wind, and sea.

They silence me.

In that moment,

I am dead

to anything and everything around,

except for the sounds

so loud,

they drown even my own.

Yet,

I am alive

to the breeze,

to the small drops

on my ankles and wrists,

to the sand gripping me

ever so tightly,

cradling me

into becoming like

the storm itself.

By Shreya