It pains me to know that the wind will forever be alone.
It is the breath of the sky, yet the bereaved shrubs neglect the life it offers.
It ripples a playful caress across the face of the ocean, yet the gulls speak of ruckus.
It sighs hollowness, yet the people grumble of mist.
It seeks comfort, yet the petals hiss affliction.
It has long since abandoned its futile hunt for love, and instead blows tempests of rage.
The gale was always misunderstood, and it always will be.
Yet is still pains me to know that the gale will forever be alone.
© Noor Mahroof