Healing winters

First Published on Vita Brevis Literature

Love speaks me through the languid branches

of almost naked trees

pickled by the snow,

in the early misty cold mornings.

 

Steering through the voiceless din.

my mind wanders

and clutches to the last sane thought

trying to figure out

the map,

the cartography of healing,

the trail to sanity.

 

I could faintly hear the laughter hidden in those trees

they do sob sometimes and tell

the stories of survival

those broken branches

and the frail twigs have suffered

the rage of the summer sun

and still, stand tall

to face the wrath of the winter.

 

Even their dead skeleton in winters

carves out a beautiful silhouette in the night

pleasing to the eyes and soul,

I heal through the broken twigs of these branches

frail yet surviving.

–Megha

Photo by Richard Hoeg on Unsplash