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THE WIND.

An ode to a day in the past, when a sudden, soft wind slapped my bored and beaten-tired face.
Also, pardon my irregular habit of using asterisks in between the stanzas. It is only additions to the mood.
About naked sunsets- It is a metaphor I use for describing a careless mind which fails to function well on its deeds of THINKING, and thinking well.
Now that the word 'naked' has come up in relation to sunsets, a simple explanation needs to be present.
A sunset is never naked, just like a mind is never empty. Sunsets are, in fact, (one of) the most vibrantly hued scenes an eye can possibly view and capture.
Anyway, the point is, there are times when a person's mind seems like its functioning capacity has taken a pause. This was one of those times and yes, it was not true. The Thoughts were only directionless and baffled. With the nature giving me and my little mind some hit, the baffled mind took turns and directions that fit perfect to the visiting mood.
The Wind.
________
Clumsy and dull, the day was set on its regular plans of dying,
Yellow and Brown, the curtains- dead and lacking.
The sheets on the table, all but moving,
The view out the frame, given up on living.
*(Some sunsets perceived by the bare eye
Lacked some zeal, not sure about what or why?)
The purple and white layers of wool on the legs, heavy and sluggish,
Crying out for tribute as the warm legs try to get rid of these.
Infatuated by the idea of warmth inside the four-walled room and the wooden ceiling,
Oblivious of the cool, whilst she sat there. Time-killing.
The labored warmth, now slowly falling into the tight grip
of the conventional cool,
Witness the slight flutter of the papers, as though
A raw butterfly wing.
Cool seeps in through the walls,
As the wood fails to fulfil its call.
The warmth, now diffident,
loses its loyalty to the body.
The purple and white, lively as they could never be.
The curtains glow with delight as though, a pile of sun-kissed hay.
The desultory attempts of the Beautiful Beast
Now, corroborates the end of the day.
In the gush of the Beast,
There is some composure.
"Fair and Unjust," its ways
Lighten up the dull.
Its ways advocate the dying.
Its ways, covertly cooling.
The fettering gush, that of the wind.
*(An occasional gush,
A sudden rush.
¬The missing piece of the naked sunset.)

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