Far away, the east wind blows,
Sifting the sands of time,
myriad patterns, ubiquitous forms,
A zillion stories, does it mime.


Stories, long forgotten,
Faces lost in the throng,
Songs hummed, in the tune of life,
Of people, weak and strong.


The warm wind carries,
Echoes from the past,
Laughter of happiness,
And Cries of loss.


Oh eastern wind ,bring to me,
voices from my childhood days,
Mirages of dusty roads,
And village girls chattering away.


Of the old house in the valley,
With its many yards,
The gas lantern glowing in the distance,
With owls as our nighttime bards.


Oh, wind of the east,
Sing me that little song,
The one that grandma taught me,
As I played beside the pond.


Far away , the east wind blows,
I hear it once in a while,
Whispers from, a now distant past,
Speak softly, of times gone by.