SyedMohsin
12-03-2008, 22:19
A Passing Wind....
I felt the wind run through my hand,
And it cried to me of a distant land.
A land where problem is just a word,
Where pain and suffering seem absurd.
Where clean fresh air is led astray,
And comes for me in clouds of gray.
They drink pure water and eat clean food,
And wear what they want as suits their mood.
It spoke of a land where children play,
And with that it left me on its way.
Such beautiful thoughts, my mind could not resist,
And I started to believe, this land exists.
But then, to them, am I even here?
To me I am, but do they care?
I looked at myself with my cloths torn up,
I stared at my plate and my dirty cup.
I never felt my tears roll down so fast,
But at least my dry lips they quenched at last.
I dropped on my knees and swallowed my pain,
And I called out for that passing wind again.
I begged it to go to that land once more,
And take this prayer to that distant shore.
And with this cry my last breath I spent,
And with my plea, off this wind went.
It is not the food or water that takes my life,
With the burning heat, I have no strife.
But the fact that my cries they never hear,
Am I not loved? Am I not dear?
But now as this silent wind takes my plea,
Death is my life, with it I am free.
SyedMohsin
Feel free to comment.(I dont bite)
I felt the wind run through my hand,
And it cried to me of a distant land.
A land where problem is just a word,
Where pain and suffering seem absurd.
Where clean fresh air is led astray,
And comes for me in clouds of gray.
They drink pure water and eat clean food,
And wear what they want as suits their mood.
It spoke of a land where children play,
And with that it left me on its way.
Such beautiful thoughts, my mind could not resist,
And I started to believe, this land exists.
But then, to them, am I even here?
To me I am, but do they care?
I looked at myself with my cloths torn up,
I stared at my plate and my dirty cup.
I never felt my tears roll down so fast,
But at least my dry lips they quenched at last.
I dropped on my knees and swallowed my pain,
And I called out for that passing wind again.
I begged it to go to that land once more,
And take this prayer to that distant shore.
And with this cry my last breath I spent,
And with my plea, off this wind went.
It is not the food or water that takes my life,
With the burning heat, I have no strife.
But the fact that my cries they never hear,
Am I not loved? Am I not dear?
But now as this silent wind takes my plea,
Death is my life, with it I am free.
SyedMohsin
Feel free to comment.(I dont bite)