A shadow of loss hangs over the city,
Even when it is December,
The time when we should dip the year of losses in
Illusion of good times.
But the cold nights and warm days,
Stand so apart from each others,
Like strangers sharing the same room.
And, one wonders where is the winter that we all know.
Where are the days of kind light?
Where are the days of aimless strolls?
Where are the roads wide enough for our dreams?
Like an incomplete conversation that promised so much and
Melted in adieu,
The chill in the air disperses and lurks the summer
Of blinding premonitions.
When we die under the unbearable sun, dear,
Will you remember the poems which we left back in the last winter?
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