Painfully Moans The Wind

At the window I stand, one evening, to witness an early departure of the sun of one of the days escaping from my life. Very gloomy the sky is, and in a hurry into the distant horizon clouds are. Of human feet, roads are free. Never so quiet the town was! Threatening with a melancholic night, a violent storm announces an unwelcome arrival, adding to the burden weighing heavily on my heart.

What drives her to commit that! Why is she leaving me an easy prey for grief and cruel loneliness! No wrong I have done to her. Honesty colors our peaceful life, and sincerity always lights our sky. In many eyes read I signs of envy, targeting our true love and happiness. Of lovers, when we were young, the most innocent we were. The garden, connecting the two houses, our small paradise it was. Everyday, among flowers and trees, with eyesome butterflies and charming birds we did play. Of soil and little stones a small house we made. Large and little leaves did our small house surround. A great joy it was to watch the childish faces mirrored in the clear water of the lovely spring. Free they were of troubles and worries of life. Getting after that tired, we sought rest in the fresh shade of the tallest and most beautiful of trees. The aromatic, yellow flowers embellishing the long boughs were a feast to our eyes and a pleasure to lovely bees. In its warm bosom, we promised to remain faithful lovers forever. With large steps after that days did go. From the bottom of our light hearts we wished they could leave us reached not by the stony hands of time!

How can she break the blessed promise! I get far into the evening. The sun is no more. Blackness invades me. The house is a narrow grave, and a silent graveyard the town is! With all power I have I rush out. I reach her. But with all hatred in the fascinating eyes afflict me she does with “In no way can I be with you again!" For long hours the aimless roads at their discretion toy with me. Painfully moans the wind. By houses peacefully standing, with dim lights marking their presence in the dark of night, I pass. Of happy sleepers, in the shelter of their homes, I do think. Oh, home! Very painful it is to be away from you! Cold and very hungry I am. Hungry for nothing but what is under the calm roofs. I stand at the ruins of my soul and heart. Half conscious of things I feel. A signing of a nightingale far away, or so I fancy, faintly comes to my hearing. Clearer and sweeter it goes, gently taking me into a world very different. A world of beauty it is. Slowly, my eyes open on the smiling, moon-like face overcoming the awful night. Enrapturing my ear, her sweet voice very softly wakes me up for breakfast in the shade of the most beautiful of trees…

Said R.Harran