Sunday Poem By Amita Roy

Sunday Poem By Amita Roy

THE FIRST NORWESTER

Clouds in clusters pile up a drop of water on window pane falls like pristine dew soon another drop then another. The parched earth a mendicant awaits, intrigued by the prelude gusts of wayward wind chase gasping leaves, they spiral up in eddies of scorched dust glad to be freed from the sizzling bed. Fangs of lightning intersect frenzied horizon, defy medley of swaying swashing trees Nature in tossing spree showers blessings on outstretched blistered palm. The patter intensifying in unison with incensed gale earth quenches its thirst- lull descends a curtain drops to the elemental show.