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 Feb 1 Nylee
Nishu Mathur
When winter came with blankets of mist
A cover of cloud through the day
Skies would stretch in endless grey
No dancing rays of an ochre sun
Then, what comfort and sweet bliss -
Was a cup of tea with cinnamon.

All wrapped in scarf, cap and mitts
Warming hands and toasting toes
Singing rhymes or talking prose
We'd whisper tales that winter spun
Tucked at night in layered quilt -
With a cup of tea with cinnamon.

With happiness, memories sing
Of smiles of youth that teased the cold
Battled wars that could be won -
To gloat in glory when grey and old
Oh, what comfort it still brings -
That cup of tea with cinnamon
You look at me
and all feeling is absent
without understanding
or care

Calling me brother
remaining a stranger
defined by the
distance we share

Caught in the fury
of loves abandon
You wander inclement
storm raging inside

A ghost in the mirror
a twin of reflection
Two eyes that stare coldly
— across the divide

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)
 Jan 30 Nylee
Pagan Paul
A ghost walking the day
like a spy upon a dream,
she stares out of a window
arrayed in black bombazine.
Hair tinged with a little grey,
such sadness she bears alone,
drifting through the quiet rooms
of a cold and empty home.
Saving her love for loneliness,
wrapped in an airy husk,
night cannot come to soon
and the veil fall with dusk.


© Pagan Paul
.
A misty morning,
Beckons the sun.

Wavy rain clouds,
Up in the sky.

Another watercolor sunrise,
Drifting in your eyes.
A piece of heaven is waking up to her good morning.
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