Ánemos Poem by Wynand Johannes Louw

Softly she brushes against my cheek,
softly she combs through my hair.
I can hear her cry at night beside me,
but there is nothing I can do to comfort her -
this ghost that surrounds me.
Sweetly she brushes against my cheek,
fitfully she tugs at my clothes.
Her touch chills me to the bone
but I long for it all the same!
For it makes me feel alive even though
I can’t comfort her.
Ceaseless incessant blowing, whaling creeping…
Her rage will tear apart anything
that can’t reach age as her patience
for vengeance, yet her loving caress
can sweep any man off his feet to carry
him to places only the eagle knows.
Softly she brushes against my cheek,
swiftly she rushes past my lips,
sweetly she rummages through my lungs,
fitfully she tears at my clothes
as her touch brings death to so many
as she brings hope and relief to.
She shapes it all, touches all –
this ghost that surrounds me.