Rosmin Elsa Mohan
** December **
She never had been so easy to endure,
The hardest part of her, am not just sure.
The hours left back, for now does seem
As a dawn to another era, unseen.
I wish now.
For another December.
The morning breeze kissed my swollen face.
The touch though cold, I felt no sore.
I looked at the sky, in a solitary gaze.
December, through her crimson core.
The woes and cries of the early crow,
Seemed to me too mere a cry.
A matter of life for it although,
Dusted in me, memories so wry.
January head on, with an instant push,
Toughness and arrogance to merge in too,
February, my love, in a gentle lush,
Caressed me all through, to think and do
March was warm, save April so hot.
To deceive, to fall into pieces apart.
May hurried ado in a joyous leap,
With success to count, and happiness to reap.
June. Wet in the summer rain,
The streaks in which I buried my pain,
To know not. To fear not. I’d learnt.
Through the spasms that killed. Burnt.
July to August were a perfect glee
In travels to redeem the selfless Me.
“Bon voyage”, they said without regret to spare.
To call back, nay! And smiles so bare.
September in lust, so turned me on.
I wished for more, but then she was gone.
October, I prepared for zest and zeal,
With outlooks changed. Attitudes did peal.
November came in a misty glow.
I wished to outlive. I wished to grow.
But then I knew how time had flown.
To make me wait for another unknown.
Slow. But was she?
Fast. How could she?
But to learn so much; to fall and win
To see the small in ev'ry big thing,
I now wish.
For another December.
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Comments about this poem (** December ** by Rosmin Elsa Mohan )
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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