At the End of a Winter

 

The white misty layer

Sprang up out of nowhere

Just after the twilight

In an early winter night.

The Moon was on its ninth,

Picking up the pace

To be in full bloom,

Amidst the shuttered rays of light.

 

I was all alone in a foggy lawn

Watching carelessly

The shy drops of Moon,

When I met her eyes

In a sudden sweep of rain

On a derailed monsoon...

 

She was drifting in like a bunch

Of light white foamy clouds

With a sweet autumn breeze;

And I got stuck by like a magical spell

To see my fall in a pair of blue eyes

Floating past my heart ringing a bell.

 

I used to write sometimes

On borrowed emotions

From the poems I seek to find

How it’s like the poetic passions.

Now, with all the maddening feelings

Brimming out of my mind

I kept looking at the blank page

Staring back at me with the blue

I got enchanted by in that fairy wind.

 

I loved to weave dreams

With winters fluting the summer rains;

Bridging morning dews

With the lonely nocturnal pains.

And all on a sudden

I found myself in the layers

Of dreams in search of the eyes

I lost my soul winging in.

 

At the edge of one winter

There will be no sign of

The long-forgotten spring.

The trail of fallen leaves

Will get drier and heavier

With no trace of greening…

 

All the tales of the world

Will come to an end,

With all the colors fading out

In a devouring bend…

 

And there will be just dreams

Over the ashen blue sky,

Floating like bubbles

In the colorless layers of streams…

 

And there will be an unfinished poem

Riding with a pair of blue eyes

In one of those dreams;

 

The eyes with a straight look

Swinging between a nonchalant smile

And a mystery of the Forgotten Isle;

And a poem in a mess of failed words

To paint a passion so deep

In my empty manuscript…

© Atique R.