And the thunder roared
cleaving the chest of the sky
that very day
I was convinced.
I was convinced with
my idea of personifying thunder
as a woman.
the voices so silent
that even the whisper
felt nothing less
than a loud cry.
I was forced.
I was forced to believe
my idea of muteness to have
some ladylike figure.
the clouds that grew grey
over pregnant with terror
weeped silently that night.
for the voice so silent
now learnt to rebel,
the tongue so paralysed
now learnt to break
the fence of shame.
that very day
I realised.
I realised the power of resurrection
that the thunder possessed
which even the skies
weren’t bound to control.