Poezja

Wind was crashing into my face
It took me for a moment
Into a trance.
Never was I
In such a trance.
Maybe
It was the work of
some clandestine power.
Or
Was there some illusion
In that power?
 
I felt a meak scent,
Following the wind.
I started challenging the wind
I felt,
As if
Wind accepted my challenge
It grew stronger.
That scent grew strange
And familiar too!
Was it a cry or
Was it someone too happy?
 
My trance suggested.
 
Maybe it was
a child crying
Over his dead parents
Or
someone living in affluence
Rejoicing with his parents.
Or
Was it someone shouting
At his parents,
So called alive?
 
Maybe it was
a child weeping in solitude
For, this day too, his empty stomach
is complaining
Or
Maybe someone wasting food,
Because enough of food
too is compalining.
Or
Maybe someone complaining
Over the food he is served.
 
Maybe it was
A cry of a small child
Who wants to study
But,
Adolescence of whose
Is kept dangling
In between bitter truths of life.
Or
Maybe of a child
Victim who is,
Of too much work.
Or
Maybe someone in riches
Not wanting to study.
 
Maybe it was someone singing
With the wind.
Or
Someone irritated
From the wind!
Or
Was it someone
Not bothered
About the wind!
 
May be it was
Someone crying in despair,
Pondering over,
“why me again? ”
Or
Was it someone
Cherishing one more triumph
Or
Was it someone
Still trying?
 
The wind suddenly stopped,
Took me out of that trance.
But,
Was it really a trance?
Were those the cries
Or
Someone so happy?
 
For days I slept in a trance
But,
Was it really a trance?
Those cries in hunger
Or
That merry making sounds
Were all present
In the same wind.
It was not a trance
But true diversities
Carried by the same wind.