Tales of the Wind

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.

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