Chasing The Wind

I’m chasing the wind,
But no matter what,
It slips through my hands,
It frustrates me a lot.

I’m chasing that scent,
It brushes past me,
Can’t seem to grasp it,
It wants to be free.

I’m chasing that rush,
It whistles in my ear,
I try to grab onto it,
This will end with a tear.

Because I must face,
The wind is a dream,
It’s a fantasy created,
Of the highest extreme.

And so do I face,
Though the wind is not mine,
It will excite and delight me,
Until the end of time.

by Aisha Sherazi

Comments (2)

I like it. We can't grab hold of the wind and nature, but it's always there for us in a pinch.
I can smell, feel and hear this poem. Sensuous, just like I like it. You've got a superb way with words, Aisha. Love, Fran xx