GONE WITH THE WIND

GONE WITH THE WIND


I gathered straws, and, built a nest,
That I thought was my cosy home;
Came wind and blew away the nest
And no more was my rosy home.

Though home and hearth I don’t have now,
Nor someone to, my needs, attend;
The memories of my past home
Will be with me until the end.

Those memories are sweet and sour,
Like thorns and petals intertwined;
Like icy winds and pleasant breeze,
Like both pain and pleasure combined;

Those moments of playful romance,
That intimate kiss and embrace;
That mingling of two bodies, souls,
Attempting to oneself efface;

And, then, those memories dreadful
Of days and nights, with quarrel rife;
Of incessant blaming sessions,
Of so frequent violent strife.

What use now sifting grain from chaff,
Separating kernel from rind;
Those days are gone never to come,
Now all is past, gone with the wind.


* Written in abcb 8-8-8-8 format

MC Gupta
26 July 2003