Poem: There is a storm comin’ in
Who would have expected that Sarah Polyakov would bring out wonderful digital artwork, and throw up a challenge like this? Here is her challenge, ad verbatim.
Anyone care to tell an intriguing story to go with my recent 3D piece?
I have been busy with my new novel ‘The Rainbow Bridge’, which encompasses storms and tempests in life. So the challenge was par for the course. Here is my composition of the poem with the same title. Hope you all enjoy the artwork and poetry.
Poem: There is a storm coming
The green corn is not green anymore,
Just that they adorn a beautiful golden hue
As if they just became wiser and richer
The spring waters have turned turgid
Even the pleasant pool looks dark and deep
The birds are quieter, even silencing their nurslings
The mountains were brown and green
But they can feel the wet air from their heights
They stand tall, shivering yet majestic
Suddenly turn purple in anticipation.
Even the sun is working part-time
Hiding behind the grey clouds
A wistful breeze blows gently but with some force
Yet you float amid this change of scenery
That comes as nature changes its wardrobe
Like the green robes give into purple
A color of royalty — majestic and powerful
Your auburn hairs brush the unruly winds
Your hands invite me to jump right in
Pointing to the western skies
Where an army of clouds in formation
Preparing to invade the shivering mountains
The golden grass and the deep dark pond.
Your voice booms over the hollering of the wind
‘There is a storm coming in’
Those words swirl, spin, and splatter
Like those twisters that would come
With the violence of wind and thunder
Yet this would be a perfect storm
Not because you had flown in and forewarned
Because now you are with me, holding my hands
I just stand awestruck, like the lonely tree
Questions ring in my mind, as sharp darts fall
Are you the perfect messenger in purple?
Or the goddess they call Tempestas?
Drenched and disheveled, your auburn hair rustled
Your eyes twinkling like that lightning
Your feet twirling like the storm clouds
A dance that we start, as the storm passes
We kiss in those intense moments
Our quivering lips now locked,
Somewhere we lost the key
Deep down, we search and find
The much-needed calm, after the storm.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2022
