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Anais Nin - The Storm
Work rating: Medium

In the country, the trees bend

Under the weight of the rain

That is falling in huge drops, under the name cheater,

For it brings a second night.

The sky clears, illuminating the earth for a second,

And then frightens the sleeping birds

With a great clap of thunder, and like bitter tears

The drops of rain become noisily mixed with those already fallen.

Nature, frightened, hides under the rustling leaves,

The flowers close under this brutal dew

And the soaked earth boasts of bearing this squall alone.

The birds, flapping their wings, lift themselves up

And murmur softly, “The Storm.”


On the sea, the holy anger becomes rage,

The waves beat furiously,

Sharing the sky’s fury.

The gloomy wind blows and beats the sails with a clamor,

While the ocean, in a supreme effort,

Hesitating and becoming one great wave,

A new voice conjuring,

In its sad and plaintive timbre,

A new force among the other cries,

And while the terrified seabirds seek a hiding place

In the depths of the few rocks along the coast,

The seamen in their crumbling boats

Shake their heads, saying, “Here is The Storm.”


And God contemplates His work,

A smile appearing in his white beard,

Seeing the fear,

In his black columns, becoming white,

And while the weather continues shuddering,

God says to Himself softly,

“Poor Man! He cannot see

Anything in my greatness.

Blind, undisciplined! Poor Man!

It’s a storm!”
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