Snows Calling Your Name Poem by Soumili Karmakar

Snows Calling Your Name

A wooden attic room with boundless beauty of mirrors in;
The magical month of snow enchanted with hidden sunbeams.
A handkerchief left in the soul of a wardrobe,
With words of threads stitched by a poet's heart.

The dried-up pen missed the sweet odour of ink,
The cap still nourished the nip of its being.
The flowing of ink was flying in the misty air,
Though when you held, they loved and stared.

A golden bell presented on the day of the Sunday mass;
Chanting verses of your name lived in my sun-setting heart.
Solace danced on the hill of a shadowy field,
Cherries and plums promised to never end their smiling spring.
As, the hues of cheerful red and sunrise plum posed lovingly;
I sat on the passenger's seat, saw you speaking by gazing at the sun.
The birds flapped their wings high up to the cloudy realm,
And footprints were painted near the lines of the sandy beach overwhelmed.

Couple of boxes near the Christmas tree;
Decorated by my heartful lee,
The oath of literary to put my emphasize on thee.
The sharing of metaphors in days of mysteries and spring.
My healing by the sun shining still,
And we ran towards the shore to embrace the purity, as we winked.

The shore and the anchor;
The hold of your grip and the slight touch of your fingertips were irresistible.
Thus, I colour the shade of blue, willing to lose,
But not to flew.

Petrichor in the air carried away delusion,
The stars blinking at me, is my heart melting allusion.

The ship floated, tulips were waiting for her palms and eyes;
Head on the stream's shoulder,
The divine wind raised by being older.
Her beholding eyes prayed for the returning boat;
One sinked and drifted them apart,
The other warm and tender, engraved your name in my eternal art.
Did you know?
One was called, as shelter and home
By strings attached, since the fairly snow fell on cupped palms
calling your name to return back in your reserved arms.

The winters are here, so are you;
Don't you forget you are my heavenly muse.
A day will bloom when you'll sing my melody;
They shall hear, and understand your eyes, which I call my only serene remedy.