The golden hour before the sunset was idyllic.
To welcome the demise of the day,
Birds flitted away, vanishing into the reddish clouds.
The day started off with a glint of hope, a ray of positivity.
The gray mid day lacking the same warmth,
A storm spewing out thunder and lightning.
Pigeons took shelter in the window sills of thatched houses, its inmates shooing them away as they were noisily interfering with their favourite show on screen.
It came down in buckets, flooding the once clear pavements,
Littering the streets with dead flamboyant autumn leaves that washed away in the downpour only to get clogged in the entrance of the drain.
The suburb was filled with people waddling in their houses,
using broken mugs to keep the infected water out of their doorsteps.
There was coughing and a lot more sneezing.
It was mayhem.
It took hours before the skies calmed down.
The wrath from above seemed to have subsided.
The water levels inside their dwellings came down along with the unsettling feeling inside the flooded hearts.
It was nothing new, yet nothing normal.
Waiting for another day of the sun's rays,
possibilities of another curse,
and again a beam of hope,
Like the beautiful dusk,
filling their soul and allowing them,
to let go of the tether that kept twisting them
to slow death.

© vaava_devu