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.

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