Winter lives in pockets of defiant snow
and on the rigid brows of yester-people.
I mix dark grays on pale pavements
and walk nights and days to nowhere
I walk in rain I walk in bliss
I look at fuzzy faces
reflected on wet asphalt
I look at people passing me by -
strangers afraid of rain
scurrying into dry shadows.
I walk my virtual self
down unknown parking rounds
up and down cold meadows
and sloshy fields of gray
a hummingbird buzzes me
I laugh, reaching out my hand
and ask - 'whatcha doin', li'l fella?'
This is hostile weather, and the bird has
no business being out in the cold
but it flies on nonetheless -
Oh yes, it was a virtual bird!
and I walk on by.
I walk on naked canvases
stillborn thoughts hidden in its weave
the white suits me well
it has more colors
than one would care to imagine.
The sea bird doesn't know which way to fly
the clock doesn't know which way is day
and google doesn't know what
or where to find, anymore...
Warm winds turn cold, and cold into spring
Nor'westers chase the vapors of an early summer
Monsoon clouds rumble in the distance
like its relevant anymore, that seasons should change.
Saplings, puppies and baby monkeys
still bully life into submission,
Crows still sit up at midnight
and flutter in cages of insomnia...
The postman still delivers
telephone bills and blank envelopes,
and winter continues to live
on the rigid brows of yester-people.
c o p y r i g h t
© p r o s e n j i t r o y