Cyclone Bulbul

It was ninth of October,

When rain was to shower.

Cyclone Bulbul was coming,

With immense power.

It darkened the sky,

It distorted the birds who fly.

The cold breeze filled my room,

With shaking of coconut tree,

Leaves were struggling to get free.

My wooden door got broken,

Before the poem was written.

I noticed the destructing view,

My mind got blanked and partly hue.

Cyclone Bulbul entered our lane.

Many men were thus slain.

By Caesar Borgia