WINTERS

Tessellated expressive narrative poem Tessellation 2 series

A Grey Winter

Winter is a cruel knife cuts my joints with a cold blood. He isn’t smiling; he is grey just like my dream. This winter which I feel vigorously is not kind, and you can see the sad tears in its pocket. His rain colors my soul with pale smiles and his hard whisper plants unforgettable tales in my deep memory. 

The Son of Winter

The very faint bird doesn’t shiver because of love or coldness. He just shakes his feather enjoying the winter’s stories. Here, winter dresses a different color and a different cruelty and all that can I see are these pale shadows. Here, winter isn’t tenderhearted; it is my grandfather’s gloomy field where the bean swings over its grass as a sad bride. I am the son of winter; my ancestry had left me alone in this frosted lake. Look at my face; it is colorless; feel my hands; they are short and dead.

A Blind Winter

The pain is deep in winter, and the smiles have left our garden without goodbye. In its nights I am just a shadow over cold trees and in its days, I am a blind owl. This winter is blind and dry, nothing here but cold smiles and white dead flowers. Believe me, I have tried to plant a pink rose but the hands of this blind winter freeze my heart. Its gray mantle knows the roads of my mute lip and the coolness of my faceless moon.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You are a wonderful story teller. Each set of lines are meaningful and worthwhile. I have enjoyed your work today. Winter can be very difficult.
Coyote