Retreat
By Karanvir Singh Thapar
The vagrant clouds of Zeus retreat in grace,
Their thunder spent, they vanish into blue.
Now peaks stand clean, their shoulders scrubbed of trace,
Adorned in hues no palette ever knew.
The mist, now thinned, still clings in robes of grey,
A veil half-lifted from the forest’s face.
The trees breathe deep, the storm-born weight has fled,
And silence reigns across this sacred place.
Through drifting clouds, the sky peers in
A shy voyeur between the gauzy seams.
The shrubs, still wet, wear smiles on their skin,
While nature hums in half-remembered dreams.
My cat curls close, aglow in twilight’s gleam,
Both of us waiting, the forest a mother expectant with the next storm’s screams.
After the publication of his first collection, Cries of Anguish (Writers Workshop), Karanvir Singh Thapar retreated from the public literary eye, choosing the solace of shadow over spotlight. For years, he has written quietly, beyond the din of acclaim or applause. Now, he returns to the light, offering poetry as a vessel of healing—for himself, and for a world in need of mending. He lives in Solan, surrounded by the quietude of nature, where he contemplates cloud formations through both his poetic and photographic lens.