a.k.a. The Sorcerer
A flying paper gets a rest in a tree
But the wind was thinking it’s not
The time for a rest or a break
With his endless blowing and roars.
Running leaves chasing each other
Rising high, searching for some air
Leaving no time to come together
Or to part, whatever.
Hurried steps hushing on the street
Muffled cries of a wasted soul
Concealed secrets flying in the wind
Vanishing away into the thin air.
The clouds are coming, menacing for the truth
Frightening the leaves, the trees and the city
Empty streets are now everywhere
With no one to greet the uproar.
He comes from the North
With a forceful furry
Looking for the weak
Fragile or frail
Changing directions he searches
And hunting. But Why?
And where are the people?
No one to applaud, to run or to scare?
The branches are still
And the paper is gone
The leaves are nowhere
To find them alone
No cries and no wailing
No secrets or stories
No one wants the storm
The squalls or downpour
Surprised and defeated
Abandoned and lonely
It’s time to go back.
Go back! Nobody wants you!
Happy rainbows my friends!