In the balcony reclining on my armchair,
Rain water drenching my face and thighs:
I look upon the canoe static by the lakeside,
It is tied so tight, like me it has no respite.
The thunder roars, as the wind whistles,
Sky, woods, lake merge – in grey they hide.
The sound, look of globs on the lakes surface,
Is vigorous, as top of tea water boiling inside.
Then through the sky there’s a shooting light,
The grey cover lifts, separating lake from sky.
The woods green the other side of the lake,
Just as was before grey descended on all sides.
My houseboat is safely anchored to the shore,
Yet I feel threatened, during turbulent surges.
Would I be better leaving this delusional home?
Its drifting makes me insecure, rattles my core.
All photos by Shuvashree