The Winter Omen

The silver town with no gold around seems like the crisp crackle of winter is announced. Packing the town in the crystals so pure, nodding and tinkling in the language of heaven, so sure. The winds are slowly taking its pace, tattering every earthly creature… making it shivering December- January days. For some it is an impending omen and others loves its cold rhythm. For it also brings some jingling sound and fills the little ones socks with their favorite Santa sounds.

The pillars of pearl are rooting all around forcing everyone to the comforts of undisturbed retirement. Whatever it is, it is unfeigned to fulfill the duty it withholds, it is slowly but surely making government think of the spell it has casted all around. The chief ministers of capital and states start wondering how the little feats would walk to the school gate. The intense cold whispers of the wave forces them to speak in liberal ways.

A kaleidoscope sight it is bound to create with hot delicious brewing teas and twinkling laughter near the wooden trees. It has its own ways to walk through every gate. Creating an irremediable lazy mood with every breaking dawn and pillows of snow dropping all around, with pride it marks its capture of the ground. Frost reddened nose all around where every one step makes an entire ground.

Aloud it pierces through every thick and thin flowing through every miseries flowing through every grin.  Natural vernalisation it creates for seeds and makes the chirping ones huddle to stay away from freeze. Sleighs of care the reindeers carry along whistling the world’s best songs. The snowman dresses in their best white, like white dove’s wings is the sight. Like butterfly snow flakes around, like bees the winds hum its song. The knitted love of grandmothers giving warmth, shielding her child with the sheep angels. The cold lunar moon glows and sending a chill through vein flow as one waits all long nights for the mercury to rise. For suspension moments squirrels hibernate into the north grounds of mother earth. In its lovely ways winter changes the shapes giving new directions even for the migrating birds.      

A brush but somewhere paints it all red, somewhere where the fog shouts with rage. Denser, it fills the time with critical stage, delaying all flights delaying all trains. Just as it grows worse with ire it takes away the passengers’ soul and pending desires. Somewhere where it is bound to create strokes that can never fade. Leaving memories of tears behind, cursing the bleak winds and its every day and night. Even the sun leaves early the ground making the darkness last for long. Letting the poor ones tremble to death, thirsting for every single ray. Turning shimmering icy water into stone so hard, making its shivering rhythm a moaning sound. With trembling eyes they helplessly scream for the bitter cold to flow away, somewhere where the Orion sheds dews in unwholesome ways.