Poem The Wall

First came the storm- unannounced, unseasonal
The wind blew strong, it swept off the tin roofs, razed huts
Uprooted trees, including a banyan with deep roots
Then it poured ceaselessly
The rain soaked us both, its sparkling drops seeped inside
We shivered, we held on to each other and warmed up
We remained snug in our fireplace of pledges, often unspoken

The season changed
It was a season of nothingness then
Was it Summer? Was it Spring? Was it Autumn? Or Winter?
We remained clueless, we ignored its flowers, we missed its sky
We found no magic in its mundane fragrance, never saw the falling leaves
In our arrogance, we felt the sense of an ending.

The storm still arrives unannounced, it still uproots trees
And then it rains ceaselessly
But we have now built impregnable walls of iron around us,
The rains cannot seep in, the sunshine fails to filter the roof
Who built the wall?

Walls can come down, there is no wall too high or unscaled
But if you love the wall, let it stand upright
Only let it not be a hideous iron curtain
Let the moss, the graffiti art, the elements colour its exterior bright
May it protect our secrets, hide from world the canvas of a voyage unfinished
If we fail, after thousand years of solitude, some explorer can rediscover it
Find a garden where we had once walked hand in hand, before penning an epitaph