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Having lost her parents, the poet avoids active grief and tears, not yet ready to let go of her memories and moments.
Oh! Winter, weave your magic
Run your fingers up my skin
Let the tear not drop
A crystal on my cheek
Nor let the heart beat
Let me not feel
Ever so gently, let your tendrils
Envelope me in cold
Am not ready to let go
For what I see, is a mirage
I know, The Sunshine
In that corner of the courtyard
Sitting on the cot
Under the mango tree
Them, laughing and basking
Let the image stay
Pause the moment
Am not ready to mourn
My mother and father’s death
For I know Winter, if you let me go
I will melt and the salt river
Note: The photo used for the poem is from author’s personal collection. It can NOT be reproduced in any form, anywhere without the author’s written consent.
First published here.
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