As summer slowly melts into autumn, there  
comes a sudden shift, 
the hills blush and become an interesting  
shade of vermillion 
while trees, left bare, descend willingly 
without a thought, 
here the weather is volatile,  
is as human psyche, covering her footprints– 
I speak directly to the wind. 

The wind, which was rough, tore at itself, 
it is amazing how one can say so much without 
words, the wind,  
in gossamer hush of dawn, 
the wind, as details darken to ebony-black, 
I find myself resonating with its many moods  
and mysterious ways.
Outside the clouds are in a frenzy,  
are filled with moisture and are preparing  
for a storm; it is difficult to describe how nature  
is feeling everything and nothing at once.  

The wind, exists as an ocean without seabed, 
as amber sunrise without the sun, 
is both alone and absent– 
you see, on a windy day such as this 
even fate bends, 
I never realized before how grateful I am  
for the change, 
I wish I could explain the weather,  
how I wish I could point out intricacies,  
it’s a lot like me; it’s a lot like me. 
In a parallel universe, a 20 something year old 
me, smiles. 

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Aerial photography of high-rise buildings, Pexels.

Poem inspired by the title of Emily Jane Bronte’s poetic masterpiece,
“The wind was rough which tore.”

Posted for Sherry’s prompt “How’s the Weather?” @what’sgoingon?

And on 2 Opportunities to join us LIVE @dVerse Poets Pub