Cycling, as always on the wrong side of the road
to the campus,
as unsuspecting as on
any Monday morning,
I  confront winter :
a tree all alone
with branches forlorn
and leaves stripped off;
yet, rides away, only faster,
no turning back
no second look.

Winter, I don't want to write about you.

The way you devour the colours and 
turn everything into a grey,
the way your every image
manifest loneliness,
oh winter, putting it down on paper,
I always end up
doing something i would never want to do,
a self portrait.

1 comment:

Jinju said...

nice one comrade... glad 2 knw u hv cme out of d writer's block :)