A Volcano Dries Off

 Let it dry, O let the fire dry,

Surmount to its peak, O let it dry,

Forth the fire flames do speak,

Do not say your life's of a meek.

O let the air sooth,

O let the stones melt,

A bomb of luck shall seize its effect,

A sense of rudimentary fire that would have felt.

Do not be awed by the wasping tornado that swirls,

For its volume's constituted by air,

A structure with far less weight,

And far less flair.

A volcano dries off,

And trail behind those tar-like rocks,

Embarked on by sand, sand crusted by veils of carcasses,

Bailing the frontiers of no thrifts of masses.

A volcano dries off,

Atop those stony lids aloft your eyes,

It sure does, when you open them,

When tears drip and you set apart your cries.

A volcano dries off,

After a stretch of maybe forty to fifty years,

It sure does, after you let it not conquer your in,

Maybe after it has led your blood boil to vapor,

Or after it made you jump in the waters,

Or even after you ache to let it rest,

Or, probably after it whips you to the end,

Or leaves you to wail in your nest,

Or maybe after it nourishes you to finally die in cough,

Yet always remember, do not forget, my friend,

A volcano dries off.

            - Krisha Shastri