The Wind begins in the East
Where an Indian beauty weeps for her love
Lost in the wars.
In that lost time remembered
All mischiefs are reminisced
Again and yet once again – with a smile.
Her sighs cannot return her to the past
But, softly, they tickle my ear from far away
And I hope that the sound of her sound
Will become my mood - and my circumstances.
Copyright © 2013 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://poetryftalker.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved.
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