A Windy Confession

The wind has a confession to make

I am clueless about my destination 

Sometimes I meander through the trees

Sometimes I pass by the rocks 

The birds often ask me in their sweet chirps 

Where do I belong?

Where was I born ?

I say, "I don't know"

May be the trees will have an answer 

I just keep on going aimlessly 

They say, I give them chills in December 

A blissful breeze in May 

And sometimes a fierceful storm 

I dance my way through the curtains 

Reminding of an unreal existence

I make my way through her hair

Making him swoon over her beauty 

I make those blades moving 

To make those mills running 

I pretty much help life to go on 

But, still I am clueless about my destination 

So, I guess you I will now carry on