Calm of The Qualm

To comprehend is not a concern to be, cause justification ain’t the order of the disorder.

The tree that stands in a storm, A wind that strikes your face.
Every leaf that is stripped of it and in the fall of a branch.
There lies a resistance to every single blow and a disorder for the wanted.

It’s time when sense has a jurisdiction that gets felt.
The wrath seems to be a nagging pain,
and when urgency overrides every reason and culminates in a qualm.

There lies a particular rosiness to this disorder, the sense of disengaging and the idea of destruction.

The peace of mind and the calm of the qualm is a rather violent expression to peace.

It’s when mind feels numb and the single streak of the faintest expression multiplies, segregates and defragments.
The still in this storm is a rockier one, a steadier one, the one that apparently resides and hides in our pangs.

The feeling of being a part of an expression that we visibly connect to elevates our emotions and the being to be rid of these pangs gets stronger in the storm.

A release that finally escapes in the mid of it gives a weird numbness.
An intoxication of a tranquil trance, a sense of control and of all the things in hand.

Apprehensions seem to die and a pandemonium arises.
Things that may have felt so cynical but for the moment the moment beholds ceases and overrides a worldly sense.

Palpable it gets all through even to the slightest to the smallest of fragments of conscience. This expressionism that defies mind soothes within and spreads a calm.

These ideas seem quasi but the storm ain’t, A flaw seems to be the logic but the expression ain’t.