Sunday, September 25, 2022

Whirligig Poem Series: "The Wind: An Extreme Instance"

The Wind: An Extreme Instance

What is the wind? -a flow in many forms, 

What the bards have call'd thee 

All are their melodious evergreen songs, 

As a philocalist I see the wind in me. 

Wind, a divine secret agent of the almighty, 

Invisibly roaming over seas, soils and nature 

For tidings of the colourful world slightly, 

And the deeds, white and black of the creatures. 

Wind, a messanger, takes the messages fairly 

Of innumerable flowers' fragrances, 

Sweetness of fruits, melodies of bird-songs, tastes of poetry, 

And to the peasants love of animals' disturbances. 

Wind, a bondage of love and peace 

Amongst the diverse hearts of its creatures, 

And for a painter, wind is a moving picture 

Of far-fatch'd fields, blue skies and solitary seas. 

Wind, a wander'r rolling up the fallen leaves 

With her into the spelly paths making sound, 

A Sufi singer; the song of herself can be listen'd 

In a loud silence all around. 

Wind, a great saviour, a transparent shelter, 

Creatures, all the three, are under her absent presence, 

They find haven in heaven of the lady defender, 

The wind is wind, an extreme instance.

Jagdish Singh Ramana

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