The Wind's Collection of Lost Words

I am the Wind, not merely breath or blast, 

But something more, a memory built to last. 

A silent collector, of the truths unsaid, 

The promises broken, the words unread. 

I gather whispers, from the hurried street, 

The unspoken longings, bittersweet. 

A lover's yearning, stifled by a fear, 

A comfort needed, but not drawing near.

I carry them, these fragments, light as air, 

Across the mountains, through the realms of care. 

Through sunlit valleys, and the city's hum, 

To distant places, where their time will come. 

Sometimes, a melody, half-forgotten, caught, 

Is given gently, to a songwriter's thought. 

A phrase of kindness, carried on my breeze, 

To reach a spirit, bringing quiet ease. 

A truth unspoken, from a distant past, 

Delivered softly, meant to truly last.
I swirl and murmur, through the leafy trees, 

Depositing secrets, bringing minds to ease. 

A child's soft cry, unheard, now floats along, 

To find a mother, in a lullaby's sweet song. 

I am the messenger, of what was lost, 

A silent journey, at a subtle cost. 

For every word released, a burden light, 

A seed of meaning, in the fading light. 

And so I travel, ever on my way, 

Gathering echoes, from each passing day.

- Khushi Kaul