Whispers of Doom: The Relentless Fury of Natural Disaster
Author – Shreshta Chandra Shekar
For aeons untold, I have watched and weaved,
A silent thread through time conceived.
I am the whisper in wind’s embrace,
The sculptor of mountains, time cannot erase.
I stir the tides, I bend the light,
I paint the sky with hues of night.
For I am motion, pulse, and flow,
The silent force all beings know.
A rhythm vast, forever spun,
The unseen drumbeat, never done.
But when the balance is disturbed, I react. I do not seek vengeance, nor do I act out of anger.
And yet, my fury sweeps across Australia—a land both gifted and afflicted by my extremes. I have ignited the heavens with raging fire, submerged entire lands beneath merciless floods, howled through the world with cyclonic fury, and shaken the very foundations beneath those who dare think the earth is theirs to command. My power is boundless; my wrath, unstoppable.
This is my candor, my quiet revelation; my nature holds no malice, only the impartial certainty of existence.
Bushfires: The Blazing Paradox of Life
The eucalyptus stands serene, its oils concealed, awaiting fate; a spark, by chance or careless deed, ignites the truth we contemplate: that nature holds within its calm the power both to heal and harm.
Australia has long known the fury of my flames, but in the Black Summer of 2019–2020, I raged with a wrath unmatched. Like a purging fire sent to test the land, The heavens darkened, and the creatures of the land fled before my scorching breath resulting in over 24 million hectares of land being reduced to ash. Thirty-three human lives were lost, and the scars on the land remain ablaze. Yet, from the embers, new life shall rise, for even in destruction, the seeds of renewal are sown.
The Ash Wednesday fires of 1983, the Black Saturday fires of 2009, and countless other infernos have rewritten Australia’s landscape, leaving behind ghostly forests of charred remains.
Not all my fires are birthed by my hand; oftentimes, they arise from the folly of man—carelessness, neglect, or the cruel intent of destruction. You have come to fear my wrath, but do you tremble at the recklessness that kindles it?
And yet, life persists. Green tendrils emerge from the blackened soil, proof that I am as much a force of renewal as I am of destruction. But make no mistake—the flames will rise again if continuity persists.
I have always burned, but now, you have made my fire hungrier. Your industries spew carbon into my skies, trapping heat where there was once balance. The land grows drier, the summers longer, the winds fiercer. You may fight my fires, but you are the ones who feed them.
The question is not if I will burn again—but when.
Rising Tide: A Judgment That Purges, A Grace That Renews
Water, the breath of creation, becomes relentless when unshackled from its bounds. For ages, I have carved the earth, nourishing fields and slaking the thirst of nations. Yet when the heavens weep without end, I reveal my true nature, one that is unfettered, sovereign, and uncontained.
The 2022 Eastern Australia floods were among my most devastating. Torrential rains battered Queensland and New South Wales, submerging entire towns, washing away roads, and sweeping vehicles like helpless leaves in a storm. Twenty-three lives were lost, and the damage climbed into the billions. Even cities like Brisbane, fortified by human engineering, succumbed to the relentless waters.
Yet this was not the first time I have loosed my waters upon the earth. In 2011, the floods of Queensland consumed Toowoomba, Brisbane, and Ipswich, severing communities from the land they called home. Seventy-eight souls were taken as the relentless tide swallowed all in its path, a solemn reminder that the waters give, and the waters take away.
I am neither merciless nor partial, for I pay heed to neither wealth nor poverty, youth nor age; all stand as one before the coming tide. You fortify your walls, raise your levees, and strengthen your cities, yet the waters do not heed the works of men. The rains shall fall again, more fiercely than before, and I shall rise as I have from the days of old.
You speak of “once-in-a-century” floods, yet they come more often. Your cities expand, concrete replacing soil, leaving my waters nowhere to go but into your streets, your homes, your lives. Still, you rebuild in the same floodplains, daring me to rise again.
In the appointed hour, I shall come; and you shall not stand prepared.
Cyclones: The Whirlwind Waltz
You see me not until the appointed hour,
When the heavens darken,
From the deep, I rise with fury unbridled,
A force no man has ever claimed.
The skies tremble, the seas swell,
My voice like thunder splits the skies.
With ruthless hands, I strike the land.
Who then shall stand against the tempest when judgment rides upon the wind?
Cyclone Alfred, a natural disaster, struck southern Queensland and northern New South Wales in early March 2025, causing extensive damage. Winds reached speeds up to 155 km/h, leading to significant destruction and widespread power outages. The storm resulted in at least one fatality, with several others reported missing.
But I was not done. Cyclone Yasi (2011) grew into a behemoth, the most powerful cyclone ever to hit Queensland. My winds roared at 285 km/h, flattening homes, erasing crops, and leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. Even Cyclone Debbie (2017), though smaller in size, wreaked havoc across North Queensland, causing $3.5 billion in damages.
You name my storms as if to tame them, you chart my path as if to outrun fate, and you flee. Yet, when the waters recede and your hands rebuild, I whisper in the winds—I am not finished.
The seas are warming, feeding my tempests, making them stronger, deadlier. Where once I came with fury, I will return with vengeance. The cyclones you have seen are nothing compared to those that will come.
The storm is written in the winds, its coming is sealed—and those who scoffed shall cry out in regret.
Earthquakes: My Pillars Groan Under Heaven’s Decree
Beneath your feet, I twist and turn,
In silent depths where embers burn.
I wait, I watch—then with a sigh,
I wake, I rise, the heavens cry.
Australia fears the flame and dreads the flood, yet it forgets the tremor beneath its blood. The 1989 Newcastle earthquake was my most violent jolt in modern history. With a magnitude of 5.6, it claimed 13 lives, injured 160 people, and caused $4 billion in damages.
Even Melbourne in 2021 trembled, a rare event that reminded you that I am never truly still. My faults are ancient, but they are not asleep. The land upon which you walk is a mere illusion of stability, and one day, the tremors will return, greater and more fearsome than before.
Australia may rest far from my great tectonic seams, yet my faults stir in quiet unrest. Do not turn a blind eye. The day will come when the ground beneath you stirs, and the veil of control will shatter like dust in the wind.
The bells shall sound, and the earth shall quake; yet the wise shall not tarry, but the foolish shall wake.
The Trumpet Blows, and None Shall Flee
I am not destruction; I am motion. I rise, I fall, I shift, I surge. You shape your world upon my skin, believing you have conquered me, yet I have outlived your greatest empires and will outlast your final whispers.
You have felt the scorch of my fire, the wrath of my storms, the weight of my waters, and the tremor of my bones. Yet still, you endure. Still, you return.
But do not let my quiet lull you into slumber. Hear my murmurs before they thunder. Honor me, not as a foe, but as a force.
For I am never still.
And I will rise again.
I marvel at how writers conjure realms of fiction, crafting narratives that, while imaginary, bear the indelible mark of their creators’ truths. Through their words, they leave a piece of their soul, creating a profound connection with readers. Literature is not a mere evasion from reality; it’s where emotions and intellect find their purest articulation.
Writing has always intrigued me—it is both an art and a refuge, a space where creativity and introspection intertwine. As I explore this passion, I find myself playing on my hobbies, embracing the joy of storytelling and expression.
In an era dominated by the cacophony of daily life, it is imperative to illuminate the subtler dimensions of existence. Writing, in all its myriad forms, distills the essence of human thought, emotion, and ingenuity, preserving fleeting moments in the permanence of ink and prose.
