Snow-capped twisted branches look like bones, tiny a bundle of nerves seems to be on a freezingly cold adventure?…to chase a feather in the wind, within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight, there moves a thread that has no end.  {pic: A view from the balcony : captured by *hush* n thank u *hush*} 

It began to snow at midnight. And certainly
the kitchen is the best place to sit,
even the kitchen of the sleepless.
It’s warm there, you cook yourself something, drink wine 
and look out of the window at your friend eternity.
Why care whether birth and death are merely points
when life is not a straight line.
Why torment yourself eyeing the calendar
and wondering what is at stake.
Why confess you don’t have the money
to buy Saskia shoes?
And why brag 
that you suffer more than others.
If there were no silence here
the snow would have dreamed it up.

You are alone
Spare the gestures. Nothing for show….

{SNOW – poem by Vladimir Holan. Translated from the Czech by Ian & Jarmila Milner}. I love this poem for its being simply deceptive! and it is so relatable, many a time when the gaze is fixed to some point in the palette of life spread across,  the mind jogs around a track, getting more and more irregular and complex for me, the spectator. and I wait for it to cover the full circle and reach the point where it started ! Else it perches on the fence, swinging its feet, gathering a stream of queries for me to respond. Call it an introspection or a pause my life takes at the milestone, looking around for someone to appear, while measuring the distance covered and the lands to be explored further. But I am always drawn into this  quivering, fragile yet invincible layer of silence by the legendary rendition of winter moods {link: Robert Frost : “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”} 

…Whose woods these are I think I know,
his house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
to watch his woods fill up with snow. 
My little horse must think it queer,
to stop without a farmhouse near,
between the woods and the frozen lake,
the darkest evening of the year….

….The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep….how deep is the influence of the nature and its seasons on a fragile creature called Human …who would ever be out and about in a seemingly vicious weather? the bleak wind howls around the corners of the houses in the village, searching for the cracks to enter, as many a snowflake hurls itself upon the houses. The winter, with much no ado about nothing conquers the village, siftng around the windows, creeping under the doors, drifting across the rooms to freeze humans. Oh, thus it builds its home in our feet and hands! “between the woods and the frozen lake”,  a world of isolation and loneliness the human faces as his sits in the cold with his little horse. How vulnerable he feels against the Power of Nature, it is mute and it is profound. Poignant!     

hitbycar.gifI feel the frozen face of the winter in the poems I read, the movies I watch (Serendipity comes to my mind as TOM-Top of Mind recall) and the wicked child Calvin’s art creations for the season -{link:his demented snowmen, the prophets of doom} demonstrating his sardonic view of the world around. I never had the pleasure of experiencing the snow, a frosty kiss of winter on my lips which puts me on a trip of dilemma – should I kiss it? would not it vanish if I kiss ? if I dont kiss it, would not it feel bad? would not it see me as a frozen and frosty human….born as an ever optimist, I would wait for the day or the evening, for the moment when I run out into the courtyard to stare teary-eyed at the sharp kisses of icicles, the rhythmic moves of woolen & fluffy snowflakes falling down all around, piling up against the walls, covering the steps, the front door, burying the roof under their soft weight…..till then, I stay behind a brightly lit window, with many a great creation of such kind (I felt the urge to say Substitutes, damn!)  warming my heart …..{link:winces the heart as winter closes in and the snow deepens….“Frost and women are the death of men”!…Thank you Alok for introducing me to Thomas Bernhard} Am, at this moment reading “Voice Imitator” by this brilliant thinker.

Winter-Autumn in my region is lovely… everyone I could hear

Do you hear yellow detonations
in mid-autumn? ….Pablo Neruda Question Book 
days are warm, everything seems to be glorified by the warmth exuded by the sun (Sun-bathing is fashionable and well-deserved a break) …and there’s a nip in the breeze that gets matured in the night. As I said earlier, I started going to the gym in the evenings just to feel the misty night…a thin layer, a fragile kiss of winter.  So what, we have no pleasant an intrusion called Snow, detonations and the wintry silence comfort us around well. A kiss of mist we get, when we stretch our reluctant palms to touch those falling leaves rippling with a music. Snow is a faraway dream tucked in a warm quilt. In nights, when I look up …the sky looks so surreal amidst the branches drenched with the dappled effect…I prefer days when the sun breaks away ferociously and relentlessly through the branches, just to get  rendered into millions of pieces of a jigsaw puzzle…in nights, it’s the silence that gets fragmented…. 

A brief taste of Thomas Bernhard’s dark and intelligent satire – Hotel Waldhaus {story}

We had no luck with the weather and the guests at our table were repellent in every respect. They even spoiled Nietzsche for us. Even after they had had a fatal accident n had been laid out in the church in Sils, we still hate them. {Story is over}

I say, this is ruthless, sadistic a pleasure. Killing his characters just like that! I am in love with this man!