Hurricane

My thoughts lay printed on sheets of paper
Stored in the drawer of my mind
They are organized and neat
Nothing out of place

They can't be touched by outside strangers
Filled with dangers and cruel intentions
I am the only one with the key
To this infinite drawer with ideas

But sometimes a foreign gust of wind comes
It rattles and shakes the knob of this drawer
Each day getting stronger and stronger
Closer and closer to freeing those papers

The enemy, the wind is a master of uncovering
Of plainly plucking out my papers
Like seeds on a vast field
To blow and disperse to unknown areas

It does it so discreetly that I don't realize its actions
Until that very last moment
When the wind turns into an hurricane
And the drawer is finally broken into

My papers fly out to this hurricane
Huffing and puffing, jumping and reaching
To retrieve my sacred papers
Although I know it is impossible

I must wait for it to move on
And pick up each paper, piece by piece
Eventually I will find most of my thoughts
To put back in the drawer

For the wind to come again....

- Nirmohi