I Know Why the Storm Always Smile-A Poem

Our lives are shaped by endless encounters with tragedies. And in each, there is a selective joy, which drills its way into the center of our minds, and gives us a new meaning to life. A storm is about to approach, and we are already inside the comforting walls made of glass and the silk which is made of desire. But how will we protect our soul from such destruction. A storm or a series of storms are crucial in shaping our days of tomorrow. If there is anything real in this life and the next, it would undeniably be the unfrequented storms that teach us the meaning of life at each turn. And each turn, whether it be beautiful or tragic, it is after all a gift to us, to let us explore our own storm, one which has been raging for so long, yet we tend to keep things casual. When we smile, how would we even know that the storm also smiles, and in this quest, let us be at one with all that life has to offer. Unveiling its secret at each turn, getting us closer to destiny, if only it exists.

I Know Why the Storm Always Smile

And tomorrow, everything will be gone

Not a log to mourn, it shall set you free

That dogma, which so ferociously snatches away individuality

Not a foreign thought, and that thick book will not suffice

Every vice, it is nice to everyone, O precise

And how will the fake stars legitimize

It was a good day yesterday, and today is like a sinking canoe

That same canoe which was rejected by the people

And now everyone prays

The strange cloud never did move

And all it did, watch every step

Behind those furbished, flaunting walls, and none a box to hide your soul

Or when an innocent is challenged for a hate crime

To what, what of this kind of polar in the new world

There is no one left, no one to sing you a song

And that loud, yet there is something so silent that no one will know

One will question, ‘The Great Thinker’

But the constrains will make not,

What in this futile, no wish and no fish in the river

Which has never been thought of

After the 8 pm dinner, and there is no storm

So you throw everything inside the tired oceans and it pleases you

Or to the person beside you, ever noticed the absenteeism

A strange, more acidic than natural selection

It is special and it is not

Now that everyone laughs when the storm sings

And that person seated inside the dripping room,

He knows why the storm always smile

-Yogesh Chandra

Image Courtesy: https://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=176477&picture=clouds-before-storm