The Top

The tornado is like a top spinning

On its point set by the hand or a string

With wailing winds and voices of thunder

Nature’s invisible hand is at work

Lightning lightens up the sky with its touch

Raindrops cascading to the ground like a gush

Swimming the thirsty ground with rushing force

Coming from the dark, heavy clouds above

The tornado moves, twisting in its dance

And things in its way, flying in its prance

All the trees quarrelling with each other

Swaying from side to side while the top spins

You can hear the people’s cries of anguish

And cries of pain, the city is finished

There is no turning back from the ruins

The perilous top destroyed nature’s playpen