Son of the wind

*whirling *
Amid straws of harvested rice i lay
Not much a thought in mind
*whirling*

Then the rattle....
And in came the winds from the eats,
Blowing past the hue a burnished sun brought,
Curling and whirling yet gentle....

And in it the little demonic grains,
Of a sand rushed,
Scathing and tearing,
A little feeble me....

Yet they said,
A son  of the wind i be
Yes they said...
He is the son of the wind,
He comes and goes,
Never a night stays....

And though they see not,
In a scorching cool brought
And though they feel not
A expiration brought
They cry
Son of the  wind

Son of the wind