The winter asks a promise
Of an evermore pangs of sorrow
It covers the whole earth in slippery silence
My children asks me where is your mother,
Where are my innocent clappings
My barking dog and it’s wavering love
Took longer than my mother’s embrace
My child is curious, he again asks
About the flowers the daisy dew at my footnotes
God’s love is heavy upon my soul
It understands imagination and tranquility of
My home, my mother here knitting sweaters
Winter is coming again with aging and dust
My books are sharply sweet it asks for nothing
My children are beckoning Christ in clapping hands
They think winter as second solitude
My hands are trembling
My garden is full of yellow roses
As my palmist said you will die of happiness
I look upon my children and my dog
They said nothing of my pangs
The sun smiles at them.
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Sayani Mukherjee
Picture Nick Victor
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