A wintry day has sat upon the throne,

Its reign short and bloodless, and grey

Timed departure ensured by the old and bony guards of leafless trees

Ushered him away, another concretized tyrant welcomed

In their cemetery, a little drawer in the kitchen where we put the pages of the calendar

And bound them with a rubber band and then throw in the fire.

The incineration of forgettable past, of paper thin hours

To layers of ash, slipping through the fingers as you pick them

To show them to your parents and say: hey!, this is my life’s story

Take it and spread over the ocean and enjoy its scratching between your teeth

This is the taste of too much undeserved love

Of the snigger of timely demons, masquerading as the tick-tocking of your veins.

May not all our days be wintry days.

Advertisements