Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Wind from the South
You can’t contain the wind from the south.
No walls, no threats can keep it out,
That searing grit in your eyes,
That choking dust in your mouth.
You set the world alight from west to east.
Too late now to curse the ash,
Too late now to stop the sands’
Last grains fall from the glass,
Too late now to stop your door,
Too late now to hide the stains on every floor,
Too late now to share the feast.
And when you falter cursing lack of sight,
And when you fall, as surely you must,
When nothing’s left of you but dust,
The wind from the south will hold you still
And hurl you through the endless night.
Although this is a simple poem, I have lost count of the number of levels on which it works for me. The title and the idea were suggested to me by the track 'An Gaoth Aneas' - 'The Wind from the South' on the Chieftains CD 'Water from the Well'. This is not the first time I have been moved to write when listening to their music.