The Wind Whispers

The Wind Whispers

The wind whispers in our ears….A song to be heard

The wind whispers in our ears…A story to be said

As we stand in the green lush meadows

The sounds come to our heads note by note

Like droplets of water from a partially closed faucet

The sounds come to our heads chord by chord

These sounds seem to carry a life with them.  A life of Quiet.  A life of Still.  A life of Peace.

Peace .Like the gentle meandering streams flowing before us beside these green lush meadows.

These sounds carry a life.

A life we once had.

 

The wind whispers in our ears….A song to be heard

The wind whispers in our ears….A story to be said.

The wind whispers in our ears…A long forgotten melody

A melody silenced out by the grind of the City Hustles

A melody swallowed up by the jaws of the Big City.

A melody we heard in the times when our stars came out at Night.

Now our stars don’t come out at Night

Or maybe they do but Smoky Skies and City Lights mean they are out of sight

A Melody we used to hear when life was quiet.

 

The wind whispers in our ears…A song we sang

The wind whispers in our ears… A story we shared

The wind whispers in our ears…A tune we knew

As the olive green palm trees are rustled gently by the whispering of the wind

Our minds are unsettled but rather roughly

Our eyes meet and ask questions even as our lips remain unmoved

Why did we stop listening to the music?

Why did we stop hearing the melody?

Then the answer comes to us

In our pursuit of the higher things we lost the simple things

In our pursuit of the superior things we let go of the subtle things

For the wind had always been whispering

Its music had always been playing

But our hearts had stopped listening.

 

Now the rain begins to fall drop by drop

This means that we must leave this scenery upon which we have stumbled upon by chance

But No, we shall not go

We shall remain here

Until we have been soaked with the petrichor of the love we once shared

Until we have been soaked with the memories of the songs we once sang

Until every chord is played, until every tune can be remembered

Then we shall go

And pray not to lose our Melody again.

 

 

*Petrichor-a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.

 

 


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