Storms of heavy hail swarm Every door of life Under the floating clouds But stones as a doorstep Are seen nowhere In wandering, wondering eyes Except the soft flowers Of hope, strewn With spiky thorns of despair.
Dark times still hover And howl with gnashing teeth Pouring each moment: A handful of blinding chillies In the eyes of relief With extra salt on the scars.
Peace cries in me, writhing Behind the door -- The locked door of my mind,
Waiting for the furious winds
To calm down for all
And the final fall
Of pale leaves of grief For a euphoric sigh of relief.
