Dead cold winter
Sets fire to
Heaps of worn out senses
Dry planks of
Revisiting yesterdays
Thoughts useless
Those could be limitless ,
The memories
Ever create lot of fuss
Longest darkness and
Silent whispers,
Knocks on the door
Parting the sweet sorrow
The untold stories
Treaded carefully
The footprints of winged love
Lost it’s way to nest,
What I missed in these years
Nothing relevant
A layer of smile
The depth of wound,
And finally the torn blanket
Wrapped both of us
The burden of holding
One another in balance,
Sun emerges over mountain of ash
Advent of winter solstice
Days begin to draw out
Spring is not that far.
Rashmi's Poetry Journal 