The Lost Wind
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
Nice. What’s with the lack of capitalization? The poem begs for punctuations! Can you please return them. Kind of dark.
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That’s the way this was supposed to be. Regarding the capitalization. As for the punctuation, I didn’t think they were necessary, changed them nevertheless.
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