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.