It was delivered at her doorstep, one day ago,
Gave rise to a silent pool of tears in a go.
Fresh parchment and the sweet smell of ink,
As she read it, she couldn’t even blink.
Five simple words scrolled on a paper,
Almost looking like a code red filter.
Meaningless to those who were oblivious,
For those who knew, knew it was vicious.
She scanned the paper for careless clues,
All that was visible were the black ink hues.
Wasn’t looking for tear drops on this creation,
Just things to trace back his location.
She glimpsed at the words yet again,
Realized the writer was in evident pain.
Needles and knives pierced her heart,
The malaise in her body reached every part.
“The East Wind Has Come” was what it said,
“It has come for me too.” she whispered with dread
The very next day her heart stopped beating,
The dead welcomed her with warm greetings.
“East Wind” is that, whom all people hate,
But it comes to all because “death” is fate.