By Abrahim Harb
Mother—
why are you so enraged.
enraged and irrational;
and we did nothing—
You woke me up
and no longer can I sleep.
Hush—
your loud roar;
Slow—
your lapping wind;
Calm—
your flashing signal;
Did we upset Him,
and you are the punishment?
Cease, your tapping on the window—
I sit,
listening,
patience wearing weary;
Boom,
the wind
grows tired.
Gasping one last breath,
releasing it's last gust of wind—
as the rain recedes.
It's gone,
for now—
