What if?

What if all the rain drops
Were just teardrops that we've shed?
What if every dust storm
Was an embodiment of those in our heads?

What if every thunder
Was the echo of one's private laugh.
What if every solar flare
Was born of an angry spark?

What if every breeze
Was just a whisper shared?
What if every new moon
Was, of all the first kisses, made?

What if our smiles
Were what powered the Sun?
What if all the stars
Were heroes that went unsung?

What if every 'once upon a time'
Started a new epoch?
What if every inferno
Was fueled by screeching amok?

What if every dark thought
Resulted in a new dead leaf?
What if every hail that struck
Was made of heartache and grief?

What if every baby's cry
Was what birthed each lightning?
What if the chafing of a worker's hands
Engendered the marks on moon's skin?

What if every whirlpool
Was because of a dancer that twirled?
What,then, if even a single thought
Could change the way of the world?

They Said.

The scintillating sun, 

A girl, blithe and serene.

They said, a delightful scene. 

Dancing, frolicking, pirouetting.

A sweet summer child, they said,

Swaying in her yellow summer dress. 

Orange, red, pink, and bright,

Flowers adorned her braid,

Nut brown, sheeny, thick,they said.

Eyes glimmer with hope and fancy, 

A smile, they said,as enchanting as can be. 

Pink and glowing, happy.

A white puff moved in the sky,

Unnoticed, tight lipped. 

As also, a shadow, did.

Drab and dreary, dark and grim,

The shadow crept.

Treacherously, they said, he took his place.

She didn't see the dark clouds

That overpowered her dear friend.

The summer child,they said, now bereft of her guard.

From within the shadows of that corner

The shadow moved out.

They said, a lurid being overshadowed her.

They said, someone walked by the corner,

And saw petals,bleak and sombre.

Once orange, red, pink;now without color.

The summer child, they said, unsmiling,  

Walked, stone-faced, solemn. 

A yellow dress, torn, and bloodied.

A scream echoed in the background.

The summer child, didn't flinch.

Walked straight on, along with her vengeful sun.

They said a shadow was found, 

Bloodied, stabbed, and grey.

At the corner down the street.

Nobody knew what went down,

The corner was deemed an unholy place.

They said their prayers, drew their crosses, and left.

Some, they said, had seen the summer child,

Pirouette until the corner, in her red dress,

Just a flicker of a shadow, under her eyes.