Cyclone

Cyclone.
Whipping wind
Careers around the mango tree,
Whips up the skirts
Of an unsuspecting bamboo
And laughs wildly at the sky.

It is dark.
The clouds are heavy,
Dark, menacing.
Hush.
Whispers
And choruses of whispers
A parliament of leaves protests.
Many fall
Beneath the guillotine
Casualties by the dozen.
Brown and green and yellow.
All over the ground
Sad
Lifeless.
All over the ground.

Windows crash.
A man is hit
By a mango grenade-
Another casualty.

Now there are ripples
Across the face of the tree
And suddenly
An onslaught-
Disturbed seas
-It rears up in dismay
And wails curses
At the passive sky.

The rain is spray
A sheet
And another
Meet,
A fountain is born
In mid-sky.
Light, cold fairy- fingers
Touching warm skin
Leaving goosebumps.

The wind,
Ecstatic,
Whoops and rushes
Through this tree,
Then that;
And at last,
Tired of this,
It is gone.

The bamboo hangs limp,
Weary.
The rain
Falls straight down.
It's tired too.

An ominous silence
And then thunder,
Too late,
Rumbles low
Beneath lightning
That cracks open the sky.
A glimpse of the world beyond.

Now the rain is heavier.
Drops make leaves dance
Beneath fairy footsteps.
White house,
Pale as a ghost
In the grey,
Peeps between
Tree- silhouettes.

A lone bird
Sings in defiance
Then sinks in silence.

Creeping cold
Blankets everything.
City sounds are hushed
As though
Behind a screen.
A telephone
Shatters the moment
And the persistent patter
Fades away.