Seven sins of wind

reeh
All you have to do is to blossom and trust the breeze.

Trust the breeze to carry the pollen of your love
And sprinkle it where it belongs.
-W.E.
ريح

A hurricane is has no friends,
The trail of devastation it leaves behind,
Is evidence of it’s wrathful intention.

A gust is too abrupt,
It’s lustful brush forces itself,
With no care.

A wind is too lame,
It’s dance is a longing for attention,
To be stolen from stillness.

A tornado is as gluttonous as they come,
Swallowing anything,
And everything in it’s path.

A Tsunami is never satisfied,
Give it an inch,
And it will take an Island.

Fog will never have the energy,
To do anything more,
Than linger.

And who is more aloof,
Than a sandstorm,
Erasing any existence, disregarding.

It is only ‘Reeh’, the Arabic word which has no other language equivalent which  is bound by love. It is the subtlest of the subtle, the gentlest of the gentle, the most tender carry of a zephyr, and even that is not soft enough to describe it. It is sweet, it is fragrant, it is flowery, it is perfume oil droplets floating in suspension. Nothing can remotely be compared to it. The utmost of romantic plays of nature. The wonders of animals, the procreation of plants, the magnificence of mountains, the gush of streams, the loneliness of deserts and the freshness of ice, all await it’s poetic arrival, a semblance of it’s presence is enough to wipe away all types of wind and annihilate their existence.

I’m guilty of none, I’m guilty of all.
I want to repent in the presence of Reeh, be it’s companion.
 
W.E.

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