Keeper Of Storms

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You stand still,
caging whirlpools within yourself,
holding them together under the envelope of your skin.

There might be storms raging within,
Your insides rearranging themselves,
Chaos shifting from one form to another,
and yet,
you stand still.

You stand still,
like a monolith,
like a monument of calm.

And us outsiders,
we look at you with awe,
wondering how you hold all of it inside,
letting nothing spill out of the box
where air and water collide,
and yet stay hinged to their walls.

We envy you too,
you are perfect.
Even with all the churning, the straining,
you haven’t lost your sheen,
you don’t have scars to block the light.
You don’t have a crack,
no drop of the turmoil
drips through your walls.

The vortex inside spins like clockwork,
neither slacking nor stepping up the pace.
I know this must stop,
physics won’t let you stay in this perpetual unrest.
But then,
I have been here for so long I have lost track of time.
There are others too,
all of us waiting for the moment you will break,
and shards of water will fly out in a spectacle.

But hang on.
We have been so lost being an audience,
so lost looking for splinters and fractures,
so lost looking for a kink or bump,
so lost looking for a place the sunlight breaks you down,
so lost..
we’ve forgotten we are keepers of storms ourselves.

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