Thunderstorms

By: Ira Regmi

Such wretched irony,

that it takes an apocalypse

A catastrophe deluging us

Real, and yet so unlikely

Like manacles around the sky

Or brick walls around the earth

For one to sit in an untidy but clean room riddled with

Wet but drying towels, unread but frequently carried books

And a side table cluttered with objects of no real necessity –

Vitamin c capsules, ultra-sheer body sunscreen, a pouch with an old shattered smartphone

And realize that thunderstorms are beautiful

A tumultuous roar – bold and brazen

A crescendo with a lingering epilogue of

Raindrops

somewhere close enough for you to hear

Far enough to know not where

And the scent of wet yet unsullied soil

With a whispering gust of air

Like a tailwind with a treasure

But then again

beyond the pleasures of a warm, bouncy bed

caught, outside in the storm

bringing a certain anyone their pizza

bags of fruits, oil, and that nutmeg powder

they need for that special cake

or running an errand and a long, long way from home

or caught in the middle of life

under the rain with nowhere to call home

The roar now a violent rumble

A tempest in the sky

A strife on land

The thunderstorm is a menace

A preamble to the tragedies

That may unfold

The raindrops now

Like thorns in your eyes

And the wind unsympathetic

Relentless, sinister and malign

Ira Regmi (‘20) is a second-year MIA student.