The Old Wind Poem by Sicelo Sithole

My life drifts on the strings of this old wind
The question is: do I flow with it or do I make all possible moves?
With no answer and reasoning but only the seasoning speed
It is only death upon my life that purely feed
Upon the joints of the old wind and major grooves
Cutting all the questions temperate and kind
All the journeys through the corrupt lines in my mind
Only to realise am at the birth of springs, flying with the masters of this old wind