The wind calls my name
With a voice the same
As my own, from another room.
It wants me to leave
And listen to it breathe
It calls to me, ‘Come soon, come soon! ’
Don’t answer the voice
Or listen to the noise
Of its fingers tickling the door.
It isn’t the wind as it sighs
Nor the storm, prattling by
It is the night, the moon, the roar
Of creatures we are never meant to see
Of dreams that were not meant to be
Faces rush by, hands reaching out.
Mouths open as you begin to shout,
Laughter, like rain, hair floating out.
Stay here, don’t peek
Don’t see a face, a nose, a cheek
It is just the wind, after all,
There is no night, no lonely call.
There is no step in the hall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem