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by Anita SubramanianWind
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Blowing tenderly upon my face,

like sweet kisses from an innocent babe. 


Much alike a naughty lad you blow, tongue in cheek;

making my hair and skirt go astray, in mischief. 


Sand and dust into my eyes, you send forth;

akin to a sullen juvenile, who has lost his mirth. 


From the womb of the sea, sometimes you rise;

possessed Poseidon, all out to wreck chaos. 


To thee, we owe our very breath;

blessed with which, is our beloved earth.

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