The Lost Wind

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The wind blows

from the east,

I know this

It rustles my hair.

The wind reeks

of copper and iron.

Blood, it speaks a sad tale

tales of disease, of war

of people gripping for the very air

to not leave their body.

The air that blew to me,

the air that blew against me.

 

The wind blows from the west

it smells of sulphur

of lead.

explosives and bullets,

detonators and guns,

tales of men wielding them,

a tale of doom.

 

The wind blows from the north,

it is chilly, with no smell.

it is almost as lifeless

as the people it left behind,

of causes unknown,

of miseries unknown,

of pain unknown,

of betrayal unknown.

 

The wind now blows up

from the south,

I smell pot pourri.

I smell candles, paraffin.

I smell roses.

I smell love.

I walk towards it,

and before I knew it

I was home..

S Narayanswamy