EDITOR: ADITYA PRAKASH
Winter creeps up like a vine.
Slowly yet suddenly you realize it’s there.
A nip in the air, the scream of fairs.
But in the same winter-time,
Buds lie dormant as if they’re hearts,
Afraid to speak their mind,
Scared to see, hence act blind.
Some trees remain covered in green.
But some are left with bare hands.
Looking like aliens from some distant lands.
Because, in the same winter-time,
Holidays go by with much fanfare,
The season of togetherness, it’s said,
But not for the shed leaf, lying, a lonely red,
Light breaks in through the sea of fog.
Happy crystals of sand glisten and glitter.
Pokes in sad eyes, in them, water shimmers.
Last season, in the same winter-time,
A cold blast of air brought time-travelers.
Memories of cracking and crushing of passion.
When love was swept away in a current of fashion.
The season of joy, of love, it’s celebrated.
But none can fathom the pain within.
When all the fears of the world go for a spin, I
When love is in the air and beyond,
I lost all of which I was fond.
Not a man, not a bird, not a beast or a thing.
But what I lost was an emotion, a useless fling.
Last winter, on which day I cannot bet,
The world stopped spinning when our eyes first met.
Now that glint, that glimmer is gone.
The interlude over, my life’s boring film still is on.
Last when I saw you, I felt nothing,
Except a damning emptiness, echoing,
In it was your face and voice.
So, in the next winter-time,
When I see celebrations again next year
In my mind will reverberate the pain and fear,
Of losing you and all my other feelings too.
When the whole world was tying branches fallen,
Somewhere, somehow, twigs of my heart were broken, by you.