a forceful chinook wind,
fast striding. unminding.
'snow-eater', the Indians say.
along the path, separating
the pond and traffic
her footsteps are heavy.
words of goodbyes
are piercing...
on a moonless night,
dreams are casting no shadows.
the sky is darkening now...
arch-shaped dusky clouds are
like bloody wounds. dripping
through the evergreen leaves.
warm wind in the mid-winter
can appease but can't unbreak
a heart as you.
i like the character of the chinook wind... and Indians as reference. it felts genuine. somber, and strangely nostalgic. but i agree we need more than a chinook wind to comfort a wintry life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The native people give such true characters to geographical happenings, in true human perspective, , we have many names for such winds, cold and warm, , well penned