When The Wind Remembers Poem by Natasa To

When the Wind Remembers

Across the fields of rust-red clay,
Where cicadas hum through amber heat,
The cotton bows in silver rows,
And summer burns beneath the feet.

Magnolias spill their heavy scent
Into the dusk like melted rain;
The jasmine climbs the weathered porch,
While thunder gathers on the plain.

The wind moves warm through swaying pines,
Its fingers stirring dust and leaves;
It carries voices from the past,
Like distant bells among the eaves.

A woman stands beneath the sky,
Her dress alive with crimson light;
The sunset stains the western clouds,
And fire seems burning in her sight.

Behind her, fields lie dark and still,
Their golden harvest turned to gray;
The smoke of yesterday hangs low,
While night consumes the edge of day.

Yet grief has not extinguished her.
She tastes the salt upon her lips,
Feels earth beneath her trembling hands,
And hears the wind through broken limbs.

For castles fall and roses fade,
And time can tear a world apart;
But roots grow deep beneath the ruins,
And ashes cannot bury heart.

So let the wind take what it must.
Let rain wash footprints from the ground.
Let yesterday sink into silence
Where only old dreams can be found.

For morning waits beyond the dark,
Gold as a flame against the blue;
And from the soil that loss has scarred,
A stubborn green will rise anew.

So when the world says, "You are through, "
Stand where the red earth meets the sky.
Let courage steady every breath—
The storm may bend you, not deny.

And when the wind begins to whisper
Through the fields at break of dawn,
Listen closely: beneath the silence,
Life is calling you beyond.