When Storms Wear The Face of Rage

By Aadharshini D S

I don’t know why people fight in love.

They say it’s fine—that storms bend the tree,

but never break it. That after the thunder,

roots dig deeper, leaves learn the light.

But what if the lightning leaves a scar?

A crack that no season can heal?

If the fight is to hold your love,

why must it wear the face of rage—

or worse, the silence that chokes the air?

Why can’t it come as love itself does:

slow, patient, a hand on the wound,

a voice saying stay instead of go?

By Aadharshini D S