A Feather In A Cyclone
It is hurled up to slate-coloured skies,
by Stella Sisanda Qishi
Twirled in buoyancies unreachable to man,
Passed on from droplet to droplet and back
Almost like a pendulum
Taking heavy clouts from a rasp cloudburst.
Plummeted to heavily-barked trees
And lie supine under leaves saturated by persistent rains
Taking hurried breaths,
Keeping its spinning head in place.
And as solace begins to settle in
The twister comes again and scoops it up and up and up.