The Angry Wind
K
Kesav Venkat Easwaran
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The wind, angry, was shouting
sitting atop the hill
on a platform it made
out of withered leaves
and broken stones
it inhaled uphill
Below was a stream flowing
with its softened sound sizzling
The wind sent out
its humid waves downhill;
the stream ignored,
did not pick them up,
did not reconcile
I saw her treading up-hill
leisurely unmindful
after a comfortable bath
down the stream
adorning a smile
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