Wind-Mind
©February 25th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
Wind buffets the house,
Slaps the branches of trees
Back and forth, back and forth,
Wind blows through cracks –
A crazy reed-player, red-faced,
Circular-breathing.
The doors and windows are shut,
Membranes clenched against wind.
And still, it slips in swirls of cold
Eddying around my wrists and ankles,
Clasping me by the neck,
Whispering wild things.
I feel it on my skin, slipping in,
Like an intruder, a marauder,
Robbing me of warmth, comfort,
Cold-fingering my spine.
And I think: I am a house,
I’m a permeable membrane.
Everything beats against my doors,
Everything buffets my walls,
And the wind slips in through cracks,
And has a go at me, but I am cloaked
And blanketed against it. I make light
Of that which seeps into my mind.
If I were to be totally shuttered,
Totally impermeable, totally closed off,
I’d not hear the wind, nor breathe it in.
The wind would leave me alone, yes,
And I’d be impervious to it, yes –
But I would also be dead.
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