“The Cyclone in the Celestial Sea”

 


A storm-born reflection of sorrow, stars, and surrender

There rose a storm not seen by eyes,
not traced on maps, nor named by men —
a cyclone curled in silent skies,
that tore my soul from where it’d been.

No trees it felled, no roofs it threw,
but deeper still — it crushed my air.
My breath was drowned, my sight withdrew,
and faith lay gasping in despair.

O Celestial Sea! O swirling void!
Where gods once churned for nectar sweet —
You churned my will, till hope destroyed,
lay shattered, sobbing at Your feet.

I searched for signs, for whispered thread,
for stars to blink a secret cue.
But all the charts and what they said —
were drowned in waves too dark to view.

Till slowly, in that astral tide,
a glimmer moved through Saturn’s gaze —
not comfort, but a guide inside
that bade me act, not just appraise.

The whirlpools formed from pain I fed,
from dreams unmet and deeds undone.
Yet through the math of stars, I read
a path — not golden but begun.

I am not meant to float unscarred,
nor curse the storm, nor fear the sea.
The stars don’t save, they show how hard
the climb — and where the strength will be.

Yes, I broke. And yes, I drowned.
But still, He wrapped me — not in might,
but in the silence so profound,
it gave my darkness back its light.

So I remain within this tide,
half-submerged in fate’s old debts,
but breathing now with soul untied —
for stars don’t lie,
but they forgive —
and never forget.

Let me rise not in revolt,
but in rhythm.
Let me serve not by escape,
but by endurance.
For even storms in sky and self
bow down…
to one whose breath is prayer.

The Grateful Entrepreneur,

SSP

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Return That Was Never Meant to Be—Yet Always Will Be

Image
  A few evenings ago, under a quiet Dubai sky—glowing not with stars but with the haze of distant city lights—I sat with a school friend. We watched an Air India flight pass silently overhead. A moment later, I asked him: “It's been 25 years since we came here chasing dreams. Why is it we still talk about going back? Not to settle scores with life, but to return home?” At first, he laughed, thinking I was joking. But soon, the silence returned. He knew what I meant. We didn’t just leave a country. We left behind a childhood. Mango-laden summers. Cricket on empty fields. Rain that smelled like wet earth and innocence. We left behind our roots. “I’ve built a life,” he said. “Good career. My kids are doing well. But going back? It’s chaos. No civic sense. The roads are still bad. Politics are worse. All they want is our money.” I looked at him and quietly asked: “And what have we done to change it?” He didn’t have an answer. Most of us don’t. The Dream That Lives in Every N...
Read more

“When We Were Still Free”

Image
  “Ahmed… Fathima…” The stretched voice of a mother drifted in from somewhere behind me, cutting gently through the sound of waves and my silent thoughts. I looked up from where I sat on the beach, toes buried in warm sand, heart somewhere else entirely. In front of me, four children were playing—a delightful chaos of laughter, sand fights, and tiny feet racing the waves. Two of the kids—both dusky, bright-eyed—looked up and ran toward the voice without resistance. A few seconds passed before another voice, softer but certain, called out: “Sai…” And the third child, who had been digging deep into the shore with his tiny hands, paused, stood up, and ran back to his family. Now, only one child remained—a small, fair-skinned boy with messy blonde curls, likely Russian. He was still giggling to himself, stacking sand like it was treasure, unfazed by the absence of the others. And as I watched them, something inside me paused—really paused. These children didn’t know each other’s...
Read more

When the Gods Go Silent: The Walk of a Man Through Dark Times

Image
  The Silence That Speaks There are moments in life when everything feels shrouded in silence. We search for guidance, but often, it feels as though the heavens have closed their doors. The gods seem distant, and in their silence, we may feel abandoned. Yet is it possible that this very silence is the greatest form of support we can receive? Could it be in the stillness that we are truly being led toward transformation, toward a deeper understanding of ourselves? When silence falls upon us, it is not a void but a sacred space—one where we are invited to shed our ego, our desires, and the attachments that bind us. In the quiet, we can hear what words alone cannot convey. In the absence of sound, the divine speaks. The Path Through Darkness: A Call to Detach In the darkest of times, it often seems that we are walking alone. The path is unclear, and yet, it is precisely in these moments of silence that we are called to trust the process.  "In the darkest times, I show you ...
Read more