It howls in my ears
It ruffles my hair
It presses on my eyes
It slaps my cheeks
But most of all, it tells tales.
Tales from far, tales from near
Tales which can make you gasp in fear
Wind- raconteur of nature needn’t beg for attention
Without any permission, it begins its narration.
The zephyr which blows on a spring morning
Tells of the song the nightingale sings
To appease the night and put it to sleep
And awaken the stars, and make them weep.
The sea’s old childhood acquaintance
Tells of pirate ships sailing in the current
Which have a beautiful mermaid in captivity
Who can tell them where the treasure’s buried.
The misty breeze of the yawning forest
Tells you to look, and stop, and rest
For a twenty-foot snake lurks nearby
Guarding its nest against the passersby.
The scorching desert wind littered with sand
Guides you to a nearby caravan
Of Mediterraneans, who can see your morrow
Looking into their crystal balls, brows furrowed.
The freezing north wind from high above
Tells of wars amongst bears white as doves
Of walri, who hunt seals and fishes
And rabbits, who burrow, noses twitching.
Even the thunderstorm has a story to tell
About Zeus and Poseidon’s quarrel
Who display their powers to put down each other
Says the typhoon- ‘Bickering’s my mother.’
Alas! Our immature human ears
Fail to comprehend the confabulations of the air
Who, like a book has stories to feed
But we, born yesterday, don’t know how to read.