Muse: Morning in the rain season

Here has become something else without much of the sun
The wind takes her toil, she dances about with no care

When the South forge towards the cold rainy season

The queer climate of the evening is seen in the morning

The mildness, softness of the wind makes all, everything cold,

Even when the sun rise, her warmth is little, insignificant

Overshadowed by the icy cold, a very strong reminder

Of strange tales of wild cold places; Utopia, some vampire land

Yet this early morning was just being born,

And a lot have not been seen, for the day is young


The Winds Tale: A call of the Hills

The call of the hills…
On a night dark as pitch

We stay listening to the swooshing trees

And the strange call up the hills…

A tornado of wind come surfing down

Pushing the brushes and woods apart

Sending both man, child and pets scrambling

Tall and strong wild palms bend double

Threatening to crush who dare stare

The dark clouds growl like a young lion

Shaking the breadths of the firmaments

The firmaments rumblings shook everyone

Wide eyed infants, the whistling pine and the Owl

The dogs bark and hide behind their kennels

Tethered farm animals shriek with fear

The cold came, and with such a surge!

It wooed the candle light

Which danced with such excitement

But the Rain never came

The Rain was locked out

Today was not his own day

A night as such as this

A windy tale to be told
An inspiration hewn down the hill
From up the dark firmaments of the night

From the hills of an African hamlet…

Midnight Thought

Once upon a midnight dreary
As I pondered weak and weary

The night was grim and all was damp
Swarms of flyfull insect surround my lamp

And out there the trees stood like Halloween ghosts
Waiting to take a stab, standing lightly on the dusts

The clouds shine, Zeus was trying out his new lamp
His match sticks light the heavens, lands and the swamp

The grey bearded unsmiling Moon shone gleefully
My big head watching it, tired and weary

My head stuck back into the window hole
And at first it fell on a big bowl

A friend lay snoring up the bed
And to me, the cool ground I laid

Strange lonely sounds of the dark
Rent the air, on my mind it left its mark

This night cold, quiet and galely uncaring for its looks
And all I had as a pillow was those books

I thought wild, letting my mind wander
Minding not the quick wind and her asunder

But if I was asked to let be
This night, what the gifts God gave me

The disturbing slow-speed lamplight moth
Or the cold winds this strange Night brought?

The Wind

There’s coldness everywhere
Up the forested hills, the wind surge
Throwing up fallen tree leaves
In a self heart gladdening sweep
Down the hill, the hamlet wakes
Pulling cardigans and all manner of rags
To keep Warmth from fleeing
The noises outside, of the busy wind
Sweeping the village square
And all the corners of the hamlet
Pulling both debris, dirt and garbage
About in a fierce dance
An uncontrolled wild desire
The skies are pitch dark
The clouds are unseen
And the Bats were nowhere around
The crickets all quiet, perhaps scared
And strongly holed up in the dark
Deep down the brown soil
The grasses all drifting about
As a choir would do
The nearby Lake, snoring
Sending her soft breezes
Towards the quiet village
A cold night, windy
And calmly a lovers own