White Wind

Writing in this strange room,
Drifting to the scene of the early tune,
Flashes of memories unloosed,
As cold white wind starts the monsoon.

I was once again a six or seven,
Sights, sounds, smell are my reminiscence.
Standing outside, feeling the rain,
Looking for something in vain.

Gray soft clouds of the morning sky,
Rests my sleeping eyes like a lullaby.
No problems troubled my young mind,
Living each day, carefree, without binds.

Now, deep is my yearning,
To fill up gaps that's been missing,
To turn back time and stop its running,
And to undo things that is haunting.

Such thoughts gives no one a hint,
As to what's rumbling on the inside,
For the outside won't even flinch,
As life continues to abide.

Clouds are once again blinding my view,
But I found joy, remembering the white wind in the early tune.

Singing a song.




Stranger Passing-By
SP-B/05/23/12