Tag Archives: wind

The Wind

The Wind

Wind is the one who can bring back
The years rolled in one’s prime,
No other thing can do but wind.
Each single year we’ve seen feels us back
T’is merely the wind of that particular wind
That felt we in our prime.
Whether the sweet jargonig of birds
That makes the heavens mute,
Or the singing monsoon rains
That inspire the buds to dance
And quench the earth’s ears thirst,
No other thing can do but wind.

Wind is a hope for a dying one,
For him who has forsaken all his will,
For him who is drowning in the water
Would any blade of grass may save his life.
Wind perches in nests, in earth’s womb
For seeds to grow, and in firmament
That the clouds will melt on to us,
In fire that blows its flames sharp
And in waters, to let it go forth
On the voyages of new land shores.

The Wind: An Extreme Instance

The Wind: An Extreme Instance

What is the wind? -a flow in many forms, What the bards have call’d thee
All are their melodious evergreen songs, As a philocalist I see the wind in me.

Wind, a divine secret agent of the almighty, Invisibly roaming over seas, soils and nature For tidings of the colourful world slightly,
And the deeds, white and black of the creatures.

Wind, a messanger, takes the messages fairly
Of innumerable flowers’ fragrances,
Sweetness of fruits, melodies of bird-songs, tastes of poetry, And to the peasants love of animals’ disturbances.

Wind, a bondage of love and peace
Amongst the diverse hearts of its creatures,
And for a painter, wind is a moving picture
Oaf far-fatch’d fields, blue skies and solitary seas.

Wind, a wander’r rolling up the fallen leaves With her into the spelly paths making sound,
A Sufi singer; the song of herself can be listen’d In a loud silence all around.

Wind, a great saviour, a transparent shelter,
Creatures, all the three, are under her absent presence, They find haven in heaven of the lady defender,
The wind is wind, an extreme instance.

Senbon Zakura Mirror Dance

I had closed the cracked window.
The gust of the first born wind
disappeared into the coming rain
together with the flute, the drums,
and the fleeting nature
of the movements-
explosions, distortions.

‘Twas like dancing slowly with
the image in the mirror
or like fragmenting
the memories of love
to empty the minds-
emotions that were eaten by
the heat of the summer.

I took a seat near my neighbor
whose husband had been
a soldier fighting in Asia
until having his half of the head
removed by a bullet.
He had always been
one of the best.

 

Suddenly, the movement
became very fast while continuing
without music
like in a sequence of movie frames
that builds tension
to enhance the consciousness-
euphoria, chills.

The dancers were, in fact,
impair numbers having
their white sashes wrapped
around their heads
while pirouetting
at a heightened tempo
to give this motion a sense
of living.

The window opened
to bring the noise of the metropolis
and the smell of the twisting wind.
Well, it was not a killing one
like those coming from the polls
and being filled
with some tiny bacteria
that had been left by the meteors or
by the lost civilizations.
‘Twas only a rainy wind.
These bacteria are not fictions;
they warm up to become
real weapons,
not Disney animations.

Life itself is not an illusion.
When life becomes hallucination,
then, something else
must be actual.

The hail hit
the roof of silence.
The dancers
were waving their arms above
their heads while clapping wildly
their swaying bodies
to express the words-
numbers of God.
I would say that
’twas not a previously
choreographed dance.

Ancestral emotions moved
all the things of the mind
out of the free space.
Crawled swiftly within
the suffering souls from which
have started to disappear peacefully.

 

Poem by Marieta Maglas

The Robin Bird Of The Early Spring

With wimpling wings,
while winking its eyes to weep,
in the downing dawn’s blue ink
of the springing spring,
and while swirling from the nature’s swing
to sway, or to rock
the night’s ring,
and to reach out without fallin’,
it leaves the garden forthwith,
right in the light to fight
the last winter’s wind.

Poem by Marieta Marieta

Nature’s Siblings at the Shore

Flesh witnessing water tumbling over stone

North wind breathing hard and chasing waves come crashing home

Eternal rhythm of rocks spitting foam

Sending whiteness skyward, outward into crannies as it roams.

 

Wave spilling over itself to greet each rock afresh

Weaving, heaving forward in a wet power press

To endure this ceaseless motion can the rocks alone contest

Stubborn ocean conversation, the one I love the best.

 

Me watching ancient daughters of mother earth converse

My hair flies as wind surges and so together purse

These three sisters in Nature’s song and ever endless verse

They have the power to cast a spell or dissolve a wicked curse.

 

When I am no longer standing watching from the shore

The waves will greet the rocks from now on till ever more

Realizations of Eternity, I too am Spirit at the Core

When I listen, I am present, in the NOW, not the after or before.