Tuesday, 19 January 2010


How we treat you
like an unwanted guest;
shaking off our shoes
in jest of maintaining the sanctity
of our precious hallway carpets.

O, but once when
we bore smaller,
keener smiles
we danced with you;
and you danced in return,
like a jester plying for to receive our folly
in recognition.

So now,
the roads are thick
with grief
that has no place
in the heart.

The cars become stuck,
the people feel unstuck;
the people just sit in armchairs -
on sofas -
and wait for a time when
they can more happily wait,
and idle their days in warmer climes.

But the old,
though cold,
observe with both
joy and apprehension
the white blanket,
falling like old, crushed bones from Heaven.

One day,
I might dance with you.
I will fall and rise with you,
and maybe you will coat
what humus I make
with your winter will.

No comments:

Post a Comment