The Winding Wind

it’s only the winding wind 
that follows the Sindh* 
like weaving twine 
all through the pind* 
looking for its 
mighty kin, 
its 
tributary twin. 

where their 
paths align 
and interwine 
rough and wavy 
trickling and thin 

knowing 
that wherein 
there is din 
there are certainly 
water-needing den-i-zens 
running along its 
splashing shoreline 
beguiled by its ripples benign 
it returns to where 
the crashing waves 
begin, began and rush ever towards time. 

Sindh – The Sindh River aka The Indus River, India

Pind – ancestral village

Pearly maidens

Pearly maidens swirl towards existence

Waltzing upon marbled sea.

Frothing in frenzy they swell together

Ever nearing the point of return.

 

Do they escape to only return?

Or do they return only to escape?

 

As they perish on the threshold of foam

Ebbing aquatic souls reincarnate in successive waves

Hopelessly they wait upon Neptune’s grace.

Whirling in an ecstasy ever showering

the fluid folds with translucent gems.

Dissipating into liquid’s depth,

resurfacing to join the mer-melee.

 

Gracefully surging towards the siren’s lure

In desire to reach beyond the horizon…

To sashay past the cascading crescents

Flowingly fleeing the curves of the thunderous crush.