It’s impossible to settle among conflict.

I grew up near a river

and in the shallows, where the current doesn’t go, layers of silt, collect

and if you step into these river-tide-pools, clear water becomes brown

and the crawdads, sculpins, and minnows, vanish

under rocks

hiding

from the temporary dust bowl, where confusion and darkness abound.

There has never been a time in my life

where I did not experience recurrent conflict

storms, coming and going

building up of dark clouds

rumblings

grumblings

towering skyscrapers of ego

thundering words

heard

miles away, like gossip, expressed on a face in the clouds.

A flash of yellow teeth

the storm battles

the odds of getting struck by lightning, expound

getting rained on, is inevitable

a person can choose to live in tornado-ally

where big bowling balls knock your pins down

or, one can choose to spend time alone.

My friend recently told me, this type of life is neutral

but I don’t think so

Flying a red and white kite

in a warm breeze

is better than, boring doldrums—True

So, storm management is important

Every man, should be a weather man

predicting the storms as an art

and getting out-of-town before a hurricane

should be, his philosophy.

I don’t like to be challenged

not that I want to be the forever king

just that I am the king of my own kingdom

and I don’t want to rule over other lands.

People who compete with me

have found a fantastic foe.

I run at my own pace

and they need to beat me

and they always do

but what have they won?

I’m not even running toward their finish line—

all I’ve done is crossed their path.

There is nothing more unpleasant, than wanting what they want

only then, do you glimpse their madness

and I prefer my own.

When these high- and low-pressure systems

converge

into storms

I know, the pleasant life, is for me

the occasional flying of a kite

on a lonely shore.

7 thoughts on “Predicting Storms as an Art

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