Listen to the Wind
“Listen to the Wind”
The wind arrives, with secrets stitched in its breath,
It hums through the hollows of abandoned trees.
A hush of silk, it weaves the dusk with longing,
Its fingers comb the grass, gentle and unseen.
And each guest watches, trembling, through the curtains.
Rolling like sorrow across forgotten shores.
And against the windows of weary houses.
A lullaby layered with echoes of loss.
The wind remembers the steps that have passed,
And strews them as petals over the earth.
It carries the salt of tears uncried,
Spilling them gently into the quiet air.
Listen—the wind is not empty but aching,
A voice unmoored, searching for a place to rest.
In the rafters it bides, as restless as a soul,
Drifts away and takes some pieces of us.
The wind does not ask for witness or reply,
Yet, it teaches us how silence still can sing.
When night tucks itself into the folds of shadowed valleys,
The wind keeps vigil for all things who have no voice.
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