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Wind has no smell

The aroma it spreads is from the Master’s garden.

Nor has it any sound

Music you hear in the wind is from the singing birds.

Alas!

Master’s garden has dried up

And the birds sing no more!

The crackling noise of the broken trumpet

That you hear that hurts your eardrums

Is from the oppressor’s loud mouth

And the smell of bad breath the wind is spreading

Isnot from the Master’s garden but from the tyrant’s foul mouth!!

Cry for change is in the air

Of my downcast citizens

Warriors are coming

And you are the warriors!

The Tyrant will be defeated

And Master’s garden would bloom

Its aroma would spread again;

Birds will sing and music would fill the wind again!

Change is on its way.

The author is a Professor of Development Practice, School of Social Science, University of Queensland, Australia

One Comment

  1. K SHESHU BABU says:

    The wind blowing with change
    Will bring the fragrance of the proletariat
    From the factories and fields
    And innumerable trades