Yonder, each dawn breaks unceremoniously
still donned in the night’s bleak attire,
while a new day begins to stretch from the shadows
to comply with the decree of a chastised sun,
and lives stir reluctantly from huddled reposes
only to be welcomed by the foreboding skies.
The icy chariot of winter keeps stealthily sowing
armfuls of lethargy and monotony all around,
as if attempting to wipe out traces of color and warmth
which are remnants of a bygone summer,
while nature scrapes at the bottom of her beauty’s barrel
and comes up with a ragged, pristine charm.
Memories that have flouted the heat of embers
start swirling in the smoke from the fireplace,
and as opportunists born at this spell of isolation
trap us under a cloud of past halcyon days,
while the snow that often adorns a colorless world
glitter as transient ornaments on those wild trees.
I think of this singular season of grey
as a darkened passage of finite length,
when dreams sprinkled with fairy dust sail above unseen
to descend at the slightest hint of spring,
and to sprout with the first tender leaf attesting a new cycle
when hopes buried under snow get rekindled by miracle.
©2016 Anjana Vipin E