He thought the storm had settled down,
And normalcy restored.
Only to discover that turbulence is permanent,
And essential, to some extent.
The lightning struck on an important day.
The day that used to be important.
But not anymore. The day has lost its meaning.
Like so many things around.
It has become a farce.
A fancy painting in a mirage.
The canvas laughed at him.
At his helplessness.
And he kept looking at the illusion.
The storm that was now brewing in the painting.
A storm that he thought had settled down.