33. Ode to the Winter




The winter pouts its fishy full,

Shiver as we beneath clothy wool,

It jerks its foggy locks,

Fed up with chilly love, ye agrestic folks.



The mornings, with Silver-Goddess

Spraying silver amidst the greens,

Feathering-furs get drenched,

Veer as birds across tiniest droplets.



And the trees seem so stoic ;

Immortal shades from His brush,

Whom misty-mortality fail to crush,

Vow, as if inspiring spirit from the gothic !



Look how the rural damsel goes!

As if dew diamonds a perfect rose,

Her salad gyration at misty dawn,

Anklets jingle to her music own.



Birds fly in the foggily-low-sky,

Earlier they took autumnly sigh,

For, too high seemed the teasing blue,

Now the flight without any rue.



The noon with a milky smile,

Like a bride after first night

Comes out dreamy and royal,

Others, while, enjoy her facial delight.



Aha the light breeze!

Stoles dewed-diamonds from leaves,

The airy-fairy, it doth tease,

Frees as it the beauty from a seize.



How wonderfully day weds its night!

The crimson setting behind the mist,

Intoxicated gets the light,

Worries not lostness, as the couple kisst.



Night fog veils the stars, –

Millions shy beauties

Cajole the dark-misty-lover below,

Whose stoic-chill gives a look of neglect harsh.



And how lonely the night feels,

As everything takes a shelter,

Orphanely it tries to enter

A homely warmth in some corner.



How sleep robusts under quilt!

The sleep fed by bodily warmth;

Humanity energising itself,

As myriad dreams get built.



But, also the merciless cold

For the calf and the old,

Both cold-preyed and hold

Their souls inside life’s fold.