‘Storm’

She came to the terrace

clothes under her arm,

created a line for them.

There was blood flowing

down the stream, down.

Her husband, she knows,

cannot feed her.

She killed the rapist alone.

She was full of lush

of the spring.

A storm brewed

and all clothes

tried to fly.

I was feeling caustic

for the time,

her hair made waves,

the vermillion

fades with the wind.

With wide angled lens,

the dark sky can be seen,

and the darkness

pervaded to our midst.

She came and whispered

about unheard postures,

posited sanctity

of the meeting.

She defied supernatural power,

relied on her own prowess-

courage.

She asked me

to show the Blue Peter,

to rid off a bludger.

I have no prowess.

I can only feel the brewing storm.