The Sanguine Dust

A kiss of whispering wind,
Has now again set forth what hath time stopped,
Jovial resolution that remained unchecked so far,
Why have I stopped now to see what sagas it beholds?

It was since the times of my unformed creed,
That has lived on my planet, an occurrence to breathe,
Forged through the betraying times
A ripe rosy texture living to this day

For it have times to tell of from its smell.

Monsoon had left it humid,
The summers had it crippled,
Autumn covered its fame,
And now have the winters left it slain.

For it have times to tell of from its smell.

On it had once the Great Asoka tread,
On it the Enlightened One shone,
On it rubbed a many million crimson foot been borne
And on it too has been boiling ruddy been strewn.

For it have times to tell of from its smell.

Mirth had told many a times
The promise of its aurous gilded roads,
And it has been vowed on the great warriors,
In whose valor the blood shone.

For it have times to tell of from its smell.

Yet again it rises stringent in my senses,
What had hath lain amongst us so bare;
That which always kept sparks of prosperous demeanor,
Something from which our bodies had shared,

It came to me,
Through me to my land it veered –

For it have times to tell of before we leave.