Storms in Melbourne

Thunder slaps the sky with its big and fat hands
wind hisses its cold breath
trees tremble with fear
flowers hurriedly close their eyes
angels cry and pour their tears to the earth
the sun suddenly becomes shy and hides its smile behind clouds
the sea rocks madly in its cradle
It is about time the deaf listen to thunder
It is about time the blind see the light
It is about time the dumb release their tied tongues
It is about time the crippled dance to pacify storms

Falling Leaves

It is not autumn yet
but leaves have turned to gold
and the wind has spoken in harsh words
The season has matured artificially
by false prophets who promise heaven in hell

Even the sun has turned crimson red, feeling sad
and angry with those who push too far ahead of time
Patience becomes a non-recyclable word
Power is the corrupted word in this broken land

The storm is waiting impatiently to sweep away
the remaining loyalists
It is time to write tragedy and chaos
in the Year of the Snake
We have drawn more than enough dark clouds in our history book

It is not the season for leaves to fall to the mother earth
It is not just the time for autumn

-- By Permata Hamid