by Nilotpa Sarmah

As the year succumbs to a chilly end
Over the landscape its final breath froths
A vaporous stream seeps forth from its rot
With the hazy sea of gloom its flow blends
Brewing, in coldness, the mystique nectar
That, in its pale beauty, intoxicates
My forlorn mind, whose musing nature creates,
A kinship with this amorphous specter
O ember-adorned time! Let me embed
My frozen despair in your arcane womb
Your warmth and the vapors’ placental feed
Shall transmute the despair into the seed
Of hope. Through its warm birth to its cold tomb
Tears of peace mothering time shall have shed

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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