The wind sings its sorrow

Posted by Author on January 21, 2013 · 1 Comment

The wind sings its sorrow and cries in the glade
Unable to find its repose,
It shredded its voice in the branches and wailed
In hollows its tireless throes.

The wind sings its sorrow, removing with haste
The winter reliquiae’s reign,
Unshrouding the earth and the clay’s worthless face
Concealed under spurious pain.

The wind sings its sorrow, its airy arms hold
As lover with fingers of ice
And frigid embrace, twisting sylphy though cold,
The rain, posing docile and nice.

The wind sings its sorrow right here, ‘neath my eaves,
And crushes its being of air
Against shaded windows, it howls and it grieves,
And begs me to feel its despair.

However, the wind doesn’t know that my soul
Has withered a long time ago,
My eyes speak no more and my heart is unwhole,
My mouth homes the bitterest woe.

The wind sings its sorrow – I sing back my own,
‘Tween us there’s just one wooden door,
Tomorrow the wind though elsewhere will have flown,
I’ll still be here, mournful and sore.

for the audio version, click on the link below:

The wind sings its sorrow – poetry reading

originally written in Romanian