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The Northern wind to South did blow
and left a kiss upon my brow,
I least care for the other ones,
From where to where the Western runs.
 
Within the sailcloth’s native flight
down all the oceans could I write,
but good from it can’t come to me
as wonder I at open sea.
You blew me fast on to a shore,
to a sailors will to survey more,
in time did courage I equip,
set sails to my beloved ship,
on a voyage thus I was again,
to shelter once more then attain,
at open sea I wondered long,
Inspecting where the skies went wrong,
why won’t my Northern Wind descend,
when this sailor does on it depend;
but still the promise that I made,
to your choices my silence bade,
when will you see that I had kept,
on stranded days and nights unslept—
my silence close, with lips concealed,
when bitter truth this life revealed,
through torrents that did daunt my being
still vexing moans I kept from fleeing.
If seas could only lives reset
and baptize me to you forget,
would gladly drown in all of them
to this misery just condemn,
but only in my tears design
could I now reach that land of mine
where my silence shall leave me too,
life as a beggar there renew,
upon whose shores I would down lie,
to hearts content then cry and cry.
 
The Northern wind to South did blow
and left a kiss upon my brow,
I least care for the other ones,
From where to where the Eastern runs.
 
R.N.Khan, © 2013

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