Blown with the wind, came I
With Orion, screened from the sight;
Yet with the constellation sighted
In the glass of life.
By my window, the rowdy wind
Picks up the pace and funnels the air
In turbid haste.
I, the eye of the storm, saddled
On the morning maze,
Pricked up is pinched with the chill of your gust.
Drip drop, dripping, clinking,clanking
Life's fluid vibe beguiles the 'witches cauldron'
The ominous count of moisture of life
Fizzing up and flowing straight
To the Bay I look
From my window-pane.
The wind would pick and the wind would fall
The train of flossy images hangs over Bay of Bengal.
Copyright © Sadat Khan | Year Posted 2016