A butterknife can cut through the smoggy breeze
The sunrays have enrolled for holocaust
The city is taken over by the Winter Frost.
Smoke rings spiral out of quivering tea shops
Leaves shed icy tears of frozen dew drops
Fireflies hunt for warmth, their goals so lost
Cold-hearted, aint it? This Winter Frost?
Pen touches paper and the fingers freeze
The chill refuses to let go, the trees long to sneeze
Even then, warmth trickles in, at Summer's cost
Maybe there is some hope within Winter Frost.
(This is what happens when you shut me in a cold room for over three hours of psychology seminars. I guess I ought to thank the girls who presented in class for having given me time for my creative catharsis! :-D It sounds very pretentious, if you ask me, but it describes Delhi's current weather so aptly! Ah, I've finally begun to look forward to more days like this, not for writing mundane poetry, but to really enjoy this Winter Frost.)
