Winter Poem by GEETASHREE CHATTEJEE

Somebody said
'The starkness of winter
has a beauty of its own'
I said
'Splendid! Like the rugged hues
of the lofty peaks.
So is the shade of winter bleak.'
The voice retuned,
'No! Its the stillness of meditation deep.
Of inroads to introspection.
Of sages secluded in dungeons
of remote, deep, dark caves
where the hollowness of ehcoes
reverberates and recochets in thousandfolds
with meaning and strength.
Winter, friend, is not the end
of divine plan.
Its just the frosty blues
penned on snow white lands
as the mind escapes.
A prelude to the bewitching blooms.
Winter is just a preface to a tale not yet confessed.
A pause, a punctuation in God's itenerary
till he rejoins with renewed gusto his children
with infinite bouquets of joyous songs
riotous colours and sun shine, eternal spring.
Winter, my friend, is the interlude between
the beginning and the beginning'