The Daily Verse

Earth and sky fused

into

a vertical of

silver, the dominant

colour with varied

shades splashed around,

 

dark-grey-bluish

patches

animate the void.

 

Winter is a silent painter of warm colours, grandpa, a devoted farmer

in Ontario, declares over dinner, during a rare family

reunion, as the fire crackles, and a yellow fog once seen

by T. S. Eliot, settles down, along with the alley cat.

 

Also, a soft-voiced singer, grandma added with a twinkle

in eyes with failing sight: A female singer working the

fields and yards and humming simultaneously; the wind

scatters those

songs

to the world, on an icy breath.

 

The children played on the soft sheets rolled out over the grassy grounds, doing somersaults, throwing snow at each other playfully in the flurries; the screaming

kids, during the recess, embraced warmly by a grey-bearded old man with cold

fingers and white brows, while the gentle creatures of God hibernated beneath

the solid sheets, warm in burrows.

 

The white-outs are getting rare now!

Missing, the desolation of stark beauty and romance of the winters!

Grandpa said with the long sigh of a jilted lover.

 

We, too, miss out the snowy country, kids complained bitterly to the adults busy

with their gadgets; no longer we see the stoic

Snow-men and their happy families, out in the open, welcoming the freezing

rain and ice, with smiles on snub-nosed faces; reassuring presence, for a lonely

commuter, trudging home, after a late shift

in a cavernous warehouse, full of young immigrants, hoping for bright stars, in

the dark

alien skies!