My tornado is sleeping.

Lahore, Oldie but goldie, Poetry

My tornado is sleeping
Sapped of the energy
That made it spin round
And round and round
In a faithless oblivious abandon
That knew no end
With a ripping, roaring,
Thunderous sound
Which was like a sigh, a cry,
For a soul in dismal distrust
And ecstatic fear
My eyes had found
For a breathless me
As the gods of discord ripped
My feeble mind spinning
Round and round and round.

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