Passages: Winter

WINTER

Sudeep Sen 2014

 

Couched on crimson cushions,

pink bleeds gold

and red spills into one’s heart.

Broad leather keeps time,

calibrating different hours

in different zones

unaware of the grammar

that makes sense.

Only random woofs and snores

of two distant dogs

on a very cold night

clears fog that is unresolved.

New plants wait for new heat —

to grow, to mature.

An old cane recliner contains

poetry for peace — woven

text keeping comfort in place.

But it is the impatience of want

that keeps equations unsolved.

Heavy, translucent, vaporous,

split red by mother tongues —

winter’s breath is pink.

 

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