The Angry Clouds

They sail on high so mighty, so swift,

They gurgle and snort as they roughly twist

They twirl and swirl as they rage and wind

The timid blue of the sky on high

The seasons they are not now refined

They come and go as they define

There was a time when the seasons all

Were bound to nature’s yearly call

Summer, winter, autumn, spring

Were all bound up in a string

Like human beings now, they are sick in mind

Unpredictable, selfish and unkind

When the farmer gleans his harvest true

It suddenly pours down to undo

His fruits of labor, his dreams to unwind.

When summer comes, it heats the earth

It cracks and racks the burdened earth

The dried up earth cannot be tilled

Nature has become so self- willed.

                                                    ~Shobha Diwakar

                                                    Jabalpur, India

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