The world stares moronically into the sky,

what are the assortment of colours they see,

a rainbow of hope, a faded promise from God,

now the rain comes, washing away the colours,

melting into one another giving rise to graying spouting clouds,

they all glare at one another, lost in a moment,

‘what is this terrible crisis?’ they cry,

the rainbow has burned and the world is dark and lonely,

now the hurt comes, washing away our spirit,

but beyond the musky thunderstorm,

beaming through the clouds,

the sun,

the light paves way through the darkness and the people are free,

‘it wasn’t that bad,’ they say, ‘we’ve been through worse.’