Faces of The Wind
Updated: Dec 3, 2022
By Sudhanshu D'Souza
A zephyr on the jasmine,
And it brings along the fragrance.
A slight puff on the face,
And it births an uncanny countenance.
Maybe it brings with itself,
Life’s secrets now and then,
Our destiny somehow depends,
On how much our minds can pen.
For many, perhaps,
It is the origin of art
For it stirs one’s psyche
Like the mysteries of the heart.
Ah, yes! How can I forget?
The wind, as the wise say,
Is the strange art of Gods
That is eerily here to stay.
Following a gust of magical wind
In the depths of the soul there turns a cog,
Something changes deep within
And creativity unfolds like monsoon’s first fog.
The wind is the voice that
Echoes from far away,
What it brings with itself
Only few can truly say.
By Sudhanshu D'Souza
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