Silent water, flowing slow,
Is keeping a secret.
A consensus of the Forgiven,
And the Forgotten.
Where a sacred kingdom is trusted,
To be protected.
I disturbed the surface of it,
And instantly, the muted pristine flew away,
Up to the calm, blue and cloudless;
Silhouettes cast on the bluish horizon;
Of snow. Where footsteps left behind,
And where drops of blood are kept frozen,
I long for rains to fall,
For sun to bake the wet soil,
For weak geysers to once again boil,
For cozy fur and warm tent; where I can coil,
Up to hours,
For moon to lustrously shines; so that I could bask under it,
It is crazy, I know.
But alone in this winter:- everything seems to be warm-giving.
Ironically then, I hope this is not the last winter after tomorrow.