Dec 2023
The season of Winter
Has finally come.
Cold air and rain
Block rays of the sun.
A subtle stab to the soul,
Leaves bruising to show.
I scold myself.
‘Isn’t this memory too old?’
But I am truly bold.
For memory
Is not temporary,
But a rendition
Of a story,
We must let unfold.
And shall I feel it until the end of day?
No.
But acceptance to the blues,
Is truly okay.
Has finally come.
Cold air and rain
Block rays of the sun.
A subtle stab to the soul,
Leaves bruising to show.
I scold myself.
‘Isn’t this memory too old?’
But I am truly bold.
For memory
Is not temporary,
But a rendition
Of a story,
We must let unfold.
And shall I feel it until the end of day?
No.
But acceptance to the blues,
Is truly okay.
This poem is about the ‘Winter Blues’ as people call it. It is about the acceptance of harsh memories that bubble up every now and then, and how it is truly okay to feel, even if it is buried in the past!
