Poetry Archive
The Four winds.
The text is presented as written. Line breaks are preserved from the archived source.
I wake in the morning and feel the wind,
The wind that blows fresh out of the North.
He brings me tidings and bids me to wake,
"The night is past, the day is come,
Linger not in thy world of dreams,
Wake up and see the sun rising.....
......Rising out of the east."
He speaks of the rise of men,
He carries the sound of bells.
He sings to me in a voice,
A voice that raises flagging spirits.
Soon he sees me out of home,
Bids me good day and is gone,
A breath of wind out of hope.
Now I am ready and off to work,
I meet the West wind propelling me along.
He brings me news, news of the west;
Of endless forests and forts of the past.
He speaks of battles that men fought,
Of bright mail, cloak and spear.
He talks of lost dynasties,
Of great kings and queens.
He sees me off, off at work,
Bids me adieu and is gone,
A breath of wind out of the past.
I sit at my desk, tired after work,
I still have an hour to go; in my doze...
...I feel a sudden chill, a voice beneath my ear,
Hisses, hisses out of the south,
The South wind is come.....
He hisses and gnashes, speaks of death and decay,
He speaks of the ills of the human race.
He speaks of the end about to come,
And of the ills of wine and rum.
He speaks of death disease and falsehood,
Of dishonesty, cruelty and blasphemy.
I wake in shock and he is gone...
A breath of wind out of despair.
Soon I'm on my way back home.
Followed by the wind of the East.
He chatters incessantly on.
He speaks of the day of the 'morrow,
He speaks of hope for the oppressed,
He speaks of the joy in the world about to come,
Of cares and worries banished.
He talks of the world out to be,
Of the days of plenty yet to come....
Now I'm home and he's gone...
A breath of wind out of the future.
In my sleep I hear their voices,
The voices of the winds......
The four winds that come out,
Out of the North, East, South and West.
I hear their advice and stories of times,
the Four Winds of the world.....
This poem belongs to the poetry archive on Chips’nCode. Where surviving legacy material exists, the original title graphic is kept with the poem as part of the record rather than rebuilt into something newer.
Copyright © Manoj Prajwal Bhattaram. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used with clear attribution, these poems may not be copied, redistributed, adapted, or used to create derivative works without prior written permission.