The Wind tells another story of Death!





People point their fingers

at thy face for their hurts oh death

for his continuous worries and stabs

thy nose they shake on the dust of the fields


The wind a hearer of words

spoken or hidden in the brain’s drive

carried its silent message

that thy teary face has sent


If only thy people have love more

if only care finds a chick in their nest

if only the walls of differences not build a tower not climb

i would surrender my stay of sword

erasing the trails of hidden lines on the clay


the hairs of age would play on

and the young heart would merry

in the flood of happiness


The wind sweep this message

from the inner heart of death’s cave

to kiss my lips wet with its drain

to pass across the world with its gaze









About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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