By the time, the thunderstorm slowly disappeared,
a concrete portrait seemed to be moving in the distance.
I shuddered with a fright,
but the tranquility in the dark turned me stiff and numb.
With the penetration of the flimsy light,
it evaded the layers of dark patches of cloud.
The clouds scattered all in sudden.
The moon was stunningly beautiful though a little shy.
Thereafter, I say,
“Look, the darkness is gone and new hope is found.”
Its distinct trail in the dark succumbed to the twilight.
Also, more puzzlingly it vanished in the vacuum in the boundless sky.
Suddenly, I stopped at the crossroads,
I scrutinized the shadow by splitting the mist and fog.
Although my poor eyesight was not helping me much,
I, myself, was distressed all alone again in the dark.
I saw nothing but a figment of my imagination.
A lie that I wanted it to be true.
At the bewilderment of what just happened,
I collected my senses and composure for clarity in thought.
Mustering to face the reality,
awake from the dream.
Then I controlled my mislead steps,
and track them back to hold my ground.
From the top of my lungs, I gave a shout while overwhelmed,
“Why do I have an infatuation for what was lost?”