Cycling Through the Cyclonic Impact

Clouds gathering up in the sky, 

Collected water rumbling up high

Begins to drop slow and sturdy-straight. 

Legs on the peddles, riding through the puddles, 

He ought to get back home before the hurdles.

His siblings scribbling in his notes and art book, 

Mother waiting for the meat curry to cook. 

 

The horrendous winds and torrential rains 

Blocking his rear view and the path ahead. 

The high waves were making it more of a hustle

For him to peddle his bicycle, hurry-up and bustle. 

The only easy way out was to reach a higher ground,

So, he moves up to ride along the mountain ridge,

But the view from up there had shook his feet off the edge- 

 

The rainwater had flooded the town off the ground, 

Rescue boats were scattered with caution sound, 

Some were saved, others luckily caught their breath. 

The boy dart-eyed his house from above and afar 

Highlighted with clothes hanging on the tied-up rope. 

His legs were tamed by the green grassland

To urge down and surge against the calamity. 

 

A rescue-copter pulls him up from there, 

Flying him to the rescue camps ahead. 

He was dried up, but his mind was still damp, 

His mother and little sisters were missing, 

But learning that they were safe was a blessing. 

The rain consistently poured and welled up, 

And more of camp sites began to swell up.

 

After a week of water-belting the town, 

The aggressive clouds slowly made way

To the hidden sun, to come out blazing

And shine-dry the watery-murky town. 

The crowd began to move down the ridge, 

To the drying up town, houses turned brown. 

They were home, yet a long way from home. 

 

The boy rides his cycle, pedals feather-like.  

Along with his family he crosses the bridge

And watches his home soaked and cloaked.

His mother says, 'We've got work to do. Firstly,

Dry chairs to rest after a tiring trudge down the ridge.'

So, they start-off by picking up the clothes off the rope

And hanging up the chairs, thanking the sun’s glares.