So is this winter for me?
Of parched minds and receding beauty,
Of stale urges and fulfilled appetites
of the blue that turns into black at two or
Of the folds which the blanket braids itself into;
the barrenness of spring and cheer of the autumn
it has never felt like my own.
the blank winds and cold cups of ceramic, however remind me of me,
Me, devoid of warm winters and dreariness
Miles between me and home, the fleece isn’t keeping me cosy,
miles between me and you, memories aren’t giving me respite.
months between the snow and blossoms, the maple isn’t promising me stability
and winters between me and me, the normalcy is turning icy.
so this is winter for me.
of old poetry and receding hues
of singing your songs without you,
of the black that turns into yellow at five
or of the wintry folds the soul has braided itself into?
About the poet:
I’m Yashika. I write on days when dew decorates the lush green leaves, when the sun shines bright with winter in my eyes. I truly believe in the power of words and what they make and hope to achieve that with my work one day:) You can follow my work at https://duskanddew150035704.wordpress.com