The Wind On The Hill


Could more be stray, the soul of mirth
That soars o’er, the verdant knoll
Estranged till death, this fury’s birth
Which stirs in heart, the pain of fall!

With pilfered whiffs, from the wilderness
She rustles past, earth’s enigma
Her rhapsody, can’t help, but bless
The nonchalance, of joie de vivre!

What searches she, thru the mystic realm!
Soul of solace, which hides therein
With a creed to spur, and overwhelm
She resurrects, life’s sublime sin!

She fills freedom, in the riotous wings
Until élans, of upheaval spill
Thru timeless echoes, a widow sings
The sagas, of The Wind On The Hill!
 
© 2018 Vikas Chandra

One comment

Submit a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s