The Storm Without An End Poem by Dhruvikumari Sharma

A building stands, immense and bare,
No windows to see, no doors to spare.
Yet winds rush in from skies untamed,
Thunderstorms from realms unnamed.

Each gust, each current, wild and fierce,
Tears through the silence, sharp as spears.
A scarf, caught in the swirling air,
Is tossed, confused, from here to there.

At first, it follows one strong flow,
Pulled by a current it seems to know.
But suddenly, a twist, a gust—
Another storm breaks through the dust.

It shifts, it spins, it loses hold,
The path it followed now runs cold.
New winds scream in, they fight, they tear,
The scarf's caught helpless, unaware.

Round and round it spirals still,
Chasing winds against its will.
It seeks that first, familiar breeze,
But finds no end to storms like these.

In circles now, it drifts, it spins,
No way to tell where it begins.
Caught in the storm, it cannot see—
The place it longed so much to be.

And there it stays, trapped in the air,
A fragile dance, but going nowhere.
Lost in a storm it tried to chase,
The middle holds no forward space.
-Dhruvikumari Sharma