Winter by Deepshikha Gangwar
my breath is visible in front of me like
a dying man's wish,
impossibly fragile to fulfil,
open windows look at plum blossoms,
frosted petals fall only to be crushed and buried under the white
i sit in our doorway, clutching tea in weakening hands, let me last this winter i pray, just this one, when spring comes, i will depart
but i must not leave you when the lands are barren, the winds are cold and the world is silent
no,
i must not leave you until life comes back, there's days when your tears are bitter on my skin, when you hug me close to your chest and beg, when your voice cracks and all i can do is let you lay your head in my lap
dying man's wish, fragile as a breath
if the universe can grant me anything
let me last till spring
Spring Will Come Again by Minaz Ansari
It stood still,
Bracing itself
In the biting cold...
Its crown scraggly
Naked and disfigured,
Its branches bare
Prickly and shorn,
But its trunk stood strong
Fearless and firm,
And its roots dug in
Determined and deep,
Its core throbbing
With an unflinching faith,
That spring would come again...
Dreams of Spring by Lian Dousel
Heavy is the fog this bitter sunless morn,
Yet still lingers truly on, his manifest warmth. O, false and wicked must it be then now to mourn If heaven’s spared my boy—no warrant for alarm. Motionless he lies beside the firelight,
And around him kindred stand with low heads all. His stillness and his cold dispassion seemed a spite To biding love, so thus within me ire sprawl.
Light without intensifies, yet here within
Gloom becomes an agent of discrimination— In wanting disposition, I condoned my sin
Of faithless dereliction. Had I known, my son! Draw the blinds, I say, and douse the mocking flames; In this shadowed piercing frost leave me to weep And let this venal darkness on me stake its claim—
Forevermore would winter stay my love asleep. Gently then a golden ray impales the blinds,
And orchestrates clement echoes of the songs
My everloving lad would serenade, and binds
My soul to dreams of spring. I’d wait for everlong.
To Master Winter by Khatija Khan
today,
we will read a poem
on how to embrace summer
while winter is weeping on your palanquin
or say,
on how to make a half burnt cake
taste yummier than a perfectly baked one
while the microwave is not working like it should
or say,
on how to paint sunken ships and earn from it,
make it to the bestsellers' line
as if death is worth more than life
while all the unrescued beings are screaming for help
or,
on how to turn wood into furniture
wool into sweater
and hearts into hurricanes
or,
a poem about a girl made of glass
who lived in a steam house
and did whatever the poet wrote
or simply turn the page
don't drink words
that fail to quench your thirst
if you are unable to find the poem you want to read
write the poem you want to read
~the poem you want to read
Winter's Resolve by Anirudh Raghavan
When she reached
the absolute limit of tolerance
Winter resolved
That it was enough
Living in the
unquestioned reign of spring
And summer
Winter withered under
their many taunts
that she is cold
unfeeling , icy even
Her mere presence is enough
to turn the sun
from a warm molten ball
of gold
into a Rocky sugar candy
The moon to a papery
Kite fluttering in the wind
She presented the
Dahlias and Dianthuses
as proof otherwise
To no avail
They say the soul's freeze
has no cure
For comfort
she looked to
monsoon
and his gentle
Compassionate patter
But much in love
with his liquid form
keeping safe distance
he offered
his ritual succor
Reduced to only
herself
embittered
winter resolved
to metamorphose
finally and forever
So neither spring nor summer
could stand
on comparison
Finding the fallen embers
of the sun
She swallowed them whole
Hoping to radiate with an
Amplified warmth
But instead
she found herself aflame
Her desire consuming her
From within
reduced to a grey ash heap
From the cold
To the cold she returned
Days later
deep within the lifeless mass
A gulmohur tree found root
and nourished by
Winter's decay
The tree each year
with unfailing routine
sets itself ablaze
Reminding both
Summer and spring
Of
Winter's fateful resolve
About the poets:
Deepshikha is an amateur poet from a small town in India. She draws her inspiration from poets like Pat Parker and Audre Lorde hoping to infuse her writing with a similar sense of vivid emotions, intersectionality and queer themes. On a good day, she can be found at the nearest Chai stall, eavesdropping into the lives of multitudes of interesting people, hidden behind her kullad. You can find her on Instagram @auctricis
Khatija is seventeen. She writes and dreams. You can find her work on Instagram @sparksofher.
Anirudh Raghavan is trained in sociology and is an independent researcher of public health and medicine. He has taught at Hindu College and Ashoka University. His haikus and senryus have appeared in Modern Haiku, Frogpond and Prune Juice. He can be reached on anirudhraghavan16@gmail.com
An architect and Urban Designer, teacher and explorer, Minaz Ansari designs, researches, mentors and writes. A published author, Minaz is fascinated by the magic of words and looks at writing as her connection to the universe. An incurable optimist, Minaz looks at her various interests as a means to create a kinder world. Her writing can be found here and here.
Lian Dousel is a 29-year-old writing enthusiast with a bachelor's degree and imposter syndrome. He currently lives in the nostalgia-filled spaces between Delhi and his hometown Lamka, taking his work and his words with him wherever he goes. One of his short stories, 'Numbered Days', has been published by Out of Print magazine, and you can find most of his other—non-deleted—prose and poetry on his blog Gutter Galley.
About the artist:
I am a Textile Designer and Visual Artist from Jaipur, India. My work tends to draw from my surroundings, Indian aesthetics and craft cultures. I create self-initiated textile and illustrated art projects, often using mixed media. This is something that developed when I explored the ubiquitous nature of textiles and how they have remained neglected, almost invisible in the important and broader narrative of human history. I want people to appreciate the simple and small things in life, which we often become oblivious to and take for granted. Busy market scenes, vendors, old and textured walls, textiles and food I eat are amongst my favorite things to draw.’
I am currently working as a Textile Designer at Raw Mango, Delhi, exploring the meaning and role of textiles in human cultures.
Find my work at www.shreyaparasrampuria.com or on Instagram @shreyaparasrampuria