The Four Faced Wind

Poetry by Valeria Castellanos



I Shall Dance with the Storm

“I Shall Dance with the Storm” – Beautiful Photograph – Unknown Photographer

I shall dance with the summer, sun filled days,
And, with the purple banners of dark evening clouds.
I shall dance with indigo skies and roaring rain,
With laughter, with simmering splashes,
With thunderous clashes,
Closing in for the coming storm,
And, the changes in its wake.

I shall dance with shattering, cut glass showers,
In the rush of the quickening, twilight hush,
Because rain flows in my veins,
Because my thoughts are contained,
In the dreams of serpents,
Asleep in the crevices of the banyan’s roots.

I shall dance in the perfumed, evening haze,
Because my flesh has been hoarded and distilled,
By the flowering jungle,
And, together we are standing, with expectations,
At the edge of the break of the ozone.
We are wondering if the wind has a will of its own.
We are wondering if the lightning,
Knows why it is heating the heart of the clouds,
Green as the tree frog’s back.
We are wondering if the rain had decided, before dawn,
It would awaken seeds today.

All I ask of you is not to interrupt,
The wonders of this rain-is-coming moment.
This moment is important,
This moment of hush,
This silk-chiffon, gray-cloud moment,
Of falling jacaranda petals,
When tangled tentacles of moss are set aquiver,
In awful twilight’s purple,
And, the Fates, succumbing to laughter or tears,
Disguise themselves or turn their heads.

I know I cannot become a part of the storm.
I can become neither a sunset nor a Jacaranda flower.
I am only a witness,
Inhaling the air,
Ingesting the rain,
And, internalizing whatever it brings.

I stand against the wind,
In puddles of lavender rhinestones.
I am willing to stand, on my own,
Against the convictions of others,
Against the thoughts of ages,
Against beliefs in yesterday’s traditions,
And, tomorrow’s rebellions,
Willing to stand, if I must,
Against even the wishes of clouds,
And, giant, ghost-stained oaks.

I am willing to let the storm strike my cheek,
And, announce the decisions of the Fates.
I am willing to wait for the universe,
Poised on its turning edge,
To make up its mind about what to do.
If the future has a will of its own,
Does that mean I have none?

The heartbeat of the storm has turned,
And, she has begun to close her eyes.
The crescent moon,
As orange as the beak of the Ibis,
Has rent the veil of clouds,
Which open their mouths,
And, whisper into the sky.
“They say I have changed,”
And, “So have you.”






The hideous summer is now invading. Can’t escape. He is all pervading.
Overpowering and persuading. Expressive, repressive, heat parading.
Summer returning. Indeed, I am yearning. The whole world is burning.
Ensconced himself, yes, in the heart of the sky. No one knows why.

Smoldering, shrieking, a monster by day.
You can’t make him stop because this is his way.
By night he is tossing and turning and churning.
One hideous eye, open wide, for my sake.
Whatever you say, he still won’t take a break.
His hot breath is keeping the forest awake.
Smothering, smoldering gray soil and leaves.
The humid earth heaves.
In howling, scowling love, with everything green,
Everything unseen, everything throbbing.
Overcoming, overflowing, overwhelming, overblown.
He will become Osiris, the insistent father of fruit.
The unbounded, over lord progenitor.
The expanding, demanding, impregnating God blossom.
Of unclaimed, unnamed, untamed, inflamed fertility,
Bursting through spring’s worn out skin.

Overbearing. Caring. Obsessive, possessive, oppressive.
Protective. Stirs the fire. Inflates the sky. Agitates the air.
Copulating everywhere. Out to increase the world.
Everything is bigger. Everything is growing.
I stop to ask, Where are we going?
Almost the size of a solar system.
At least the size of a star,
Generates his own heat. Heartbeat.
Yang thrilling. Yang fulfilling. Rageing yang. A raping gang.
Abundance, dancing through purple thunderstorms,
Through lightning splashing, thunder clashing.
Enthusiasm. Exaggeration. Exhilaration.
Hurricane hysteria. Mysterious delirium.
Life force flowing, glowing, always growing.
Insatiable. Inevitable. Unrelenting, unrepenting.
Do it now. Don’t wait. Tomorrow is going to be too late.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, the equinox rocks. The autumn shocks.
Tomorrow will turn the tide again. Will let the cold back in.
The summer, exhausted, will start to pale, will turn his tail, will begin to fail.
And so, the fall will make the call, will dance through the day and devour us all.
The world will moan and mourn, forlorn. Gone is the summer. My heart is torn.
Retreat to the frozen nest, to rest. The cold invades my aching breast.

I am no longer burning, burning. Now I am turning.
What am I learning? The world is still churning,
And, I am still yearning.

Why do I moan? I want my own throne.
And, I don’t want you to leave me alone.

Don’t make me pray. Don’t make me pay.
I’m willing to do, whatever you say.
All that I ask of you is, please, don’t send me away.

Hold me and tell me, for I am still yearning.
Tell me again, when, is summer returning?

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