Of Sadness, Silences and The Snow

A/N: This is a collection of poems that capture the essence of winter.

Winter

Winter, it has wreaked upon this city

Silence and sombreness.

Trees in every street

Stand tall and grieve over

All the leaves they've lost

To a conniving fall

As murky mosses and algae

Gnaw away at their barks

And so does the shrill wind.

Nights, like wild beasts,

Pounce on their innocuous, unsuspecting preys,

The raw, gray afternoons,

Leaving no room for reassuring evenings.

Whilst they do so,

The past raises its magic wand

And turns another empty, lifeless day,

Another day of my heart not having known

What being in love is like

Into another one of its many, dusty relics.

Christmas lights,

Red and blue and green and golden,

Lining front porches and railings and yard fences

All come back on, slowly.

Oh no, I shall be tired, too tired

For when the nights would end

And blinding white dawns come along.

So I wish and wish and wish

For an eternity to throw itself all around

The nights matt-black and bleak and burdening

So I'd never have to so much as face those dawns

Let alone shake hands or make friends with them.

~

At Times

At times,

I instill into the verses of my poems

A kind of vulnerability

Too dark

For the world to shine its light on

And dispel.

At times,

I designate my poems with the task

Of making my morose reader breathe at last

And look out of his window

At the snow that keeps falling in the distance,

The snow that makes for itself

Many, many homes upon the grass and the gravel.

These homes, they have to them

No rooms or walls or even roofs

But the wild wind can barge in and out of them

As and when it pleases.

At times,

I force my poems to think of

How very fitting it is

That some brazen winter nights

Are laden with much more of distress

Than death could ever bring about.

At times,

I make my poems wonder at

The herculean tragedy

Of missing someone utterly, immensely

Every second of every day

Yet never being able to tell them so.

At times,

I urge my poems to talk of

How you and I once were

But two wildfires

Spreading across a forest,

Hoping, dreaming, wishing

To meet someplace along the way

And fall madly and hopelessly in love

Until the townsfolk decided

They ought to intervene

And came and quelled us

With their hundreds of pails

Of treacherous waters.

At times,

My poems, on their own,

Take pity on the souls

That were forged and fostered in hurt,

Beings that have lived the entirety of their lives

With the kind of wrenching pain in their chests

No miraculous balm or potion

Could ever assuage.

~

Oh What Shall I Not Give

I lie in my bed on this dark day,

With my very life being dug out of me

With a large and sharp shovel

And think of all the nights that come after

The bright night of Christmas.

I think of how they hang their heads low

And kneel before the suzerainty

Of an ominous silence

With the winds quietly joining them

In doing so.

I find myself, suddenly,

Tripping and falling into a dark pit

That is filled up to the brim

With the thick, black coal tar of hopeless despair.

Somehow,

I land into your arms instead.

I think of how I have wandered like a lunatic

Around this tiny world, for years,

Looking for the smothering solace

That I have now come to find

In these arms of yours.

Oh what shall I not give

To be put in chains

And get tethered to

These steely arms of yours.

Oh what shall I not give

To be able to slip into

The kind of soulful sleep

That would last for evermore.

~

I deduce that, surely,

The brackish white skies

Must be going through

Some great grief.

What else could have caused them to crumble into

A million specks of snow

And fall onto the barren earth so crookedly?

~

I look at the snow that sits

Silently upon my window sill

And for a few moments,

Merely for a few moments,

I feel a little less lonely

And a little more alive.

~

Walking Out

On that sparsely lit evening,

While walking out on another gruelling year,

I turned to take in a last glimpse of it,

And its grim face told me,

It wasn't half as fond of me,

As I was of it.

Nonetheless,

I took the few steps forward towards it,

Embraced it with ample warmth,

And whispered into its ears,

I shall place you right on top,

Of my bookshelf of memories

And every single time,

Before going to sit next to my window

On a graying night that is much closer to the dawn than it is to dusk,

And reflecting upon both my dreadful and dumbfounding days,

I shall not forget to halt by the bookshelf,

Pull you out gently,

And take a quick, teary-eyed peek

At your faded pages.

~

Sometimes,

I obsessively, compulsively,

Go over my poems

Again and again and again

Until every single one of those staggering words

That submissively constitute my poems

Turn themselves

Into a couple of freakish rebels

And shriek right into my ears

We aren't any good, we aren't any good

And since you were the one

Who came up with us in the first place

You aren't any good either.

~

A/N: I know that this poem does not quite go with the theme of the rest of the book but I wrote it on a sad day in December so I am posting it anyway.

WOW so many beautiful creations !

Originally posted by: Sutapasima

WOW so many beautiful creations !

Thanks for reading and leaving comments <3

I read all the poems in one sitting, one after the other, layer by layer, and I was able to see life with all of its challenges and recollections.🤗

We are human and are tied to the rest of humanity via our sentiments. All the poems are unfiltered, strong, and deeply felt.

Ramya, you have complete control over your emotional responses. You know how to let go of one thought after another only after thoroughly examining it in your heart. 🤗

Well written poems. ❤️