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“The wintry afternoon
stood still to watch
-the bloom undressing self!”

“A quiver, a shiver
is the rose surrendering self
-the winter frosty caress?”
 

“Why does it strip
petal by petal?
-a bloom in the winter”

“Enveloped by mist,
she watches her breath
-frozen and rigid”

“The bloom unsettled
under her icy
-solace”

“Funny and irreverent
antics of autumn
-Winter snapped harshly!”

 “Lost in thought
she trembled from head to foot
-a bloom in Winter”
 

David sir wrote…. 

“Winter words are hid
on a shelf in the darkness
waiting to emerge”
 

Ashish said, what I like about these short poems is that you’ve created a personality for winter and one could almost see a shy but very sad, soulful and sensitive woman in these verses.

After my gym session every evening, I walk through the tree-lined street in solitude. I meet something too familiar under the trees, a longing that throbs in me alive at its severity, a longing is so deep that I could not bear it, but to lick away the last mile of a lonely tear-drop that leaves a stained stretch on my face. A swirl of thoughts jerks me onto the distant humming highway  -what would someone be doing at this moment, would someone think of me as ceremoniously as I think of him with such a religious ardor, if at all we were to meet how would that first ever encounter be. Silence seems to have lured everything out there in that nameless street wearing winter. Everything appears to be so cloaked in secret greys and rusty browns, heavily clothed body, both the arms and limbs together so that the fire-place like warmth stays with it.  After trudging past the unlit and shaded parts of the street, heavy-hearted I come upon something else I create for myself as deliberate an effort. Beyond that broken wall where an old dog sleeps or beyond the brightly lit windows where women go about preparing hot dinner or beyond the hedge where crickets start their night in a wailful choir, I find one more tale, a few strings of which are lost in the grey shades of tree. I could do nothing but hasten the pace through the long stretches of silence, to sigh out a tiny message to the stillness around me that the next evening would be lighter and less gloomier……A walk in a Winter Evening! The season of contemplation arrives at every door. What I really like doing – a book in my hand, waiting for the train to chug in so that I could sway a wave of departure to myself! And I wonder, how many paused at my window? how many stretched their fingers to touch that quivering note of mine? how many of them chained selves to a reverie of an evening and the silent hum of the wind in the trees? how many of them actually retrace my window while moving about their lives? I remain silent at my window only to get interrupted by soothing drift of wind chimes…and here comes the 5000th knock at my door!

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