See, wide open the gates are in welcome,
I am the city of tranquility
that appeared in your thoughts from nowhere,
you may choose to live for now,
       perhaps for ever or never.
having crossed many toll gates
in your long drive to reach here,
don't you wait, drive straight,
the capitol looms above bright,
occupy the citadel most secure
in which a few like you stayed for a while
till they figured out  what they seek,
when they resumed their journey
with heartful of joy

keep at bay the angst that chases you
from a wrong turn once you took,
experience the weather, peaceful atmosphere,
till it dawns to you, the magic of this ambience,
air, water and land unspoiled, like old times,
don't you miss the birds that
never forget to sing, be it
a harsh summer or a frozen winter.
they all make your soul
listen to the  beating heart, the city has
A free bird you are, be aware,
do whatever freedom demands,
if you choose to come back
this city sky is all yours.

The camel she rode was doddering, on its last legs,
the way she petted it, all along the caravan's route
made them think that she wouldn't bear its inevitable fate.
Not loosing her cool, she gets down, views the looming desert,
others are puzzled, unfathomable is her mind,
alacritous she is, draws her sabre, cuts open the camel, with her deft hands
water in the desert is more precious than love,
that exceeds the prescribed time limit, her act speaks aloud,
no one moves, stunned not even knowing what they feel,
then realize, in a desert tender feelings are short-lived, like new blooms.
What a desert human life has become of late
in silence they contemplate as they leave behind the camel's carcass

Bright white silence
Blue wavy chants
flames of roaring red,

on white, blue bled,
bluest red or white?
let it get sorted out
whitening bluish red
in rapid slashes over
reddened bluish white,
all  wriggle like eels
bond the way
it is meant to be,
Jackson *******'s blue poles
whisper in white and red
"kindred spirits
come home, tiptoe in"

Time marches through
the path seasons clear
mixing paint and
painting cave walls
never stops,
murals speak in many
cryptic tongues
day and night;
the denizens listen.
cave men and women
in their ritualistic dances
try to forget this
cave wall speakings,
could they ever succeed?

Dali's brush, she has
in her expressive tongue;
his cubist sensibility,
laps up that dense macabre
as if it's cadence par excellence.

Wild profusion of mad red 'flame of the forest' flowers,
a roaring fire they create, which the sun stokes further
a white stork, tired after a lonely flight, crossing  long distances
dive in to that pyre; unawares or fulfilling a suicidal desire?

Which sublime symphony,
makes me fully forget
I am a limited being
rooted on the earth.
The booming wind's
the running water's?
or the serenade that cascades
as the wink of a million stars
filling the limitless skies?
which blue evokes,
the hue of my inner world,
the sky's or the sea's,
perhaps the turquoise of her eyes?

On the meadow green,
the grass under my feet,
is resilient, never lies low,
and the sun at dusk
showers gold dust over it.

Now, I feel a lightness, no word can tell,
I am ebullient, feels omnipotent,
on newly acquired wings, I hover up,
the evening silver star, waking up,
at the far corner of the sky
extends her hands
to invite me to her boudoir.

From above, the skydiver's eyes scan the verdant landscape-
rushing towards him, but she can't see that, he regrets,
though she too jumps, sitting in his heart, the quiet dove
dreaming immortality being his habit, he is in yogic trance as he land,
rushes to see her, as in here and now, is his foot hold as a householder
awaiting him for long, she kisses him ferociously on his mouth
"I can't wait anymore to roll in our bed"she warmed it for this moment,
If one is incapable of imagining the the higher reaches of particle state,
immortalities hug, after quietly going back, enjoy the sojourn here
It's a cycle, there isn't no two; Dive down from the air craft
over the clouds smiling, hear the whisper of the winds in both ears.
Live dangerously, raise to the sublime, before touching eternity.

Winter canters  from a distance, irresistible she is,
                                    I'd roll in my tranquil bed with her,
              then, her embraces would  become an intoxicant,
                    making me dive in to the lake  of stupor she creates
                                              for me to swim with her.

Blackness entirely claims my rainbow now, your eyes stare at a stranger,
                your heart no more remembers the beats of mine.
Walking through the labyrinths of time, I too find you aren't there-
     any more.The river has vanished under the sands,
no regrets for forgotten promises of sea waves, the children of oblivion,
       we foolishly took the hand of a dark night, for guidance,
still, I falter forward in the light of love, faintly flickering inside,
         kindled when the night was still young, we were  innocent
and sweet like tender coconut water.Now that tree too is felled.

his body is bread,
made of dough kneaded
through generations
she knew.
               he sensed her cannibalistic  urge,
even before, from her irregular breath,
now, under her garter belt half untied
he feels
               a knife.
he knew she was
the exquisite red wine
matured in the
     wooden barrels in darkness of time,
      found only  on the table
angels dine.
her blood red
intoxicates even from a distance,
he desired the sweet and sour
of her tender flesh,
goosebumps infest like pox
when he closes his eyes
and imagine
licking clean the chalice
                         filled with her.
The jealous moon
looking down at them,
from her high perch whisper:
"You are made for each other
no doubt"

Prancing rays of sun,
eager to touch and tickle
wake everything up
from slumber,
filter through
swaying bamboo groves
singing in a divine madness
a love song,
in honor of the couple
lost in sensual yearning,
in their lovely garden,
wrapped head to toe in morning mist.
Lust is far from their mind
and nature through them expresses
its sublime zeitgeist.
Gently the wind pulls her bodice,
exposes one breast, frozen snow like.
Swimming in the waters of
aesthetic languor, she lets
the fingers of sun caress,
turning it to pink.
A glowing wave of zen hits him-
a waterfall from above,
simultaneously  a tornado from within
shaking him for an indefinite time.

Freezing cold, a  strange night of rain and thunder,
it got registred deep in his consciousness,
as a squiggling liquid presence;
an abstract painting, taken in, with layers of meaning,
a deluge, the result of injustices heaped against the female principle.
The rain lashed out, in the flashes of lightning
in between, through the window sills
when the curtains where swept aside
by a subversive wind, painful face
of a frightened girl was visible,
at the window of a highrise building,
shameful secrets kept concealed peeped out
yelling out "HELP"in the shocking words of silence.
That night was difficult for an exile from life like him to endure,
subconscious echoed terror filled cries;
sewer water flowed, towards oblivion,
carrying embryos, not fully formed from terminated pregnancies,
he heared tree toads speaking in strange tongues,
like jilted women seeking vengeance,
coyotes hunting in packs with blood thirst howled in delight.

In his nightmare, blood dripped from wet trees,
"who will rescue our bloodied orphaned planet?"
his heart with a collective guilt , beyond words wailed.
From denuded mountain slopes, muddy red water
copiously gushed  downhill, nature's menstrual flow
out of cycle, devastated hillsides cleaving gashes,
like scorned woman's fury baring long sharp  fangs-
landslides opened gaping wounds.
Liquid's rule took over the space of night,
lying awake on his bed,
he became conscious of the burden of women,
who moved around with invisible bridles
pretending free, nervously smiling.
Swimming in the amniotic fluid of the past
he is forced to recount the past sins,
nature and women have endured and ask
for forgiveness seeking salvation.

Distressed she complained that the world goes dark,
he wasn't alarmed, gazing deep in to her eyes
dissolved fully in its silver light that preserved the echoes
of sunny meadow walks, wine red sunsets and starlit nights;
delighted he made it sound aloud in their world more,
created a lighted path for them to saunter, at its limits
darkness, a mere attendant, was kept strictly at arm's length.

Fecund tree, winds from all directions find refuge on it,
red flowers make it look like a flaming torch,
beetles, bees and  fragrant breeze pretend
it belongs only to them for all the days to come;
when the flowers are  all gone, the tree isn't their own,
but when ripe fruits swing in the wind, new relations begin again.

I learn the  the lessons of life from all this, but the tree seems equanimous.
Never ever thought which family it belongs  or what gender,
for a weary traveler its graciousness is what  touches the heart,
every time sitting below it,  I thought how kind it was.
Meeting below its shade, my girl never forgets to remind
"This tree is kindness personified, made us lovers wielding its power"
under its blue shade, we sat, gazed at each other's eyes
found out love is a fragrance that emerges only at such moments.
Bless the soul who put the seed in earth, watered it,
made love live in our lives as the fragrance that never fades.

A river of sparkling light, but a night's darkness hidden in the depth,
compulsive laughter and mirth, to camouflage lurking angst,
dreams sleeping with curtains pulled down on the bitterness in their eyes,
I toild hard to explore what life is, and found  resonance in your essence.

I am open, would accept you as what you are, help you to clearly see, I promise
if we try, we could shed our dark hues and embrace light without much ado,
if you could look at things in the light of the vision that springs, from your inner core,
like you, my love, life too will step with me, dance enraptured,as we wish, I am sure

Lone crow on top of the transmission tower,
pretends she has its ownership rights.
A flock of swallows trying to alight on it,
deflected by her belligerence, scatter to all sides.
Shadow of an eagle above, quickly makes her wise,
like an acrobat, she dives upside down, disappears.

Underwater they quickly become fish,
she likes it that way, he concedes her every wish,
"An eel, aren't you?" raunchily she pretends astonishment,
big fish with an avid mouth she is, he knows so well.

Leaning against him
She dreams forever.
He spreads the roots deeply
and flowers all the time.

Arrows her eyes shoot, are  sharpened by a silver light ethereal,
her heart, excited like a migratory bird, is ready to start, any moment,
they simultaneously practice for exactitude in the art of the dart
precision is enhanced after every consecutive try, I the target, gather,
my ever chivalrous heart, is ready to to receive it all, undaunted
as it gets late, expectant heart, slightly frets,
 why hasn't she yet started to shoot at the target, straight?

Sun, a purple ink ball,
the heavens fills with magic
on the moment of each dawn,
      paints the sky and earth
      as he madly explodes;
sitting cross legged, eyes wildly closed,
meditating on the carpet of grass,
he is in union with the divine oneness,
that moment holds forth,
---when he hears the soliloquy
    of a wild flower,  nobody cared for
      within his heart,

"I am fulfilled,
this moment means
salvation forever to me;
let the cruel rays of sun
**** me this very noon,
I won't shed a drop of tear"

Children arguing aloud, celebrate
their momentary freedom from parents,
playtime sounds in the park
grow quick like huge  trees full of foliage;
in the middle of that dense green darkness
of every kind of sounds,
on a dilapidated bench, alone she sits
--a symbol, not  yet deciphered.
Her head is  thrown back,
profuse hair, hanging dark curtain,
behind which the sun sets.
From an open window across the busy road,
he watches everything in silence;
a solid rock in flood waters
that eschewed all thoughts.

A quiet and cozy nook it is, he sits at ease,
but can't relax, peace of mind, a flitting bird;
sixth sense incessantly whispers: be on your guard
cameras hidden somewhere record every move.

As if in a dream, he passes through that street
his days of youth walked most, bitten by the  lovebug;
a dear face of the past, from an open window of mind, peers,
those  tear filled eyes, still ask "Tell me why, oh! why?"

"Invaluable, these three things I cherish"
he  tells her , "Will you sell each, ask any price"
"Certain wealth refuses to be sold", he makes it clear
" Whatever price you quote will be far less
than the value  I give, there is a flip side too,
others won't find any worth in its glitter,
then would any one even touch it, even if i offer?"
she was puzzled and demanded an explanation
"All the three are memories effulgent,
so much alive these moments are in my mind,
how would I transfer these to others, even if  they desire?
Imagine the moment they cease to be alive for me, in some case,
it's their death, they loose all value, just  dumped in to the dustbin of time"

His face is white like chalk,
he mulls death as an option,
"bleed , bleed my heart,
till you are white" pleads his desperation,
flying back after loosing her forever, deeply hurt,
everything he achieved so young
seems now just dirt,
in a chartered flight empty
except the crew and him
no easy route he can think to ease the pain.

Through the window,
in the bare  blue sky his eyes fall
on a lone albatross,  
going  down loosing height,
gravity pulls one down each moment,
rise above the clouds and expect a thunderbolt,
then go down like a flight in distress any moment.
thinking about her streaming eyes that followed
as he left her even without a goodbye,
he hears her SOS ringing in mind.

Will she ever know what really happened to them?

"Our love has been betrayed by the world,
we've been taken for a ride by all we did trust,
now far away from the hold of reality,
this cruel world anymore, doesn't deserve us"

The flight has taken to heiger altitude, away from all this
enters in to the magnificent city of clouds,
without seeking anybody's permission.
The skyscrapers in the high street of this opulent place
has created new reality to him without her

The steeples of cloud cathedrals bring calm,
there isn't any going back from this tranquil world.
"I wouldn't go back from here, dear captain,
look! how well we have fitted in this reality's fold
let us not turn back, but land here in the city of clouds,
where all flights, of every time, land for ever, never look back.

Call the air traffic control, make your voice cheerful
even the paths here are covered with cloud carpets,
let's save the fuel, fly on the wings of clouds
steady towards eternity, that wait for us."

The place looked like an inn, or was it a sin house? no idea he had,
He made himself believe that he was a pilgrim, but free from bindings of any kind,
as he was going around  holy places in  penance, after mourning his father's death
had  long black beard and saffron robes,a Hindu Sadhu look like,( renouncing nothing!)

She said she was a fallen woman, he told she should get up and go, not wasting time,
he has no wisdom yet worth giving, but she still expected and stood by, waiting
so he had to put his wisdom cap on,"Stressed out men and catty women" he said what occurred then
"this world gets tattered by them and their kin, the sooner one understands this the better,
beyond the quagmire  focus your vision; uncluttered  mind, that's where to begin"

A teardrop,
quickly formed
refused to fall,
demanded her
the reason
why it should
roll down
from her eyes.
choked with emotion
she couldn't reply;
yet attempted
to say "Love"
but before she finished,
the tremor
gripped and shook,
the tear drop
fell on her cheek
first drop of rain
after a long drought,
started a flow
that refused to stop
for a long time.

The clock demands a tower, for it to look outwards
night has an absence, the key factor
bringing relevance to a lighthouse,
the nightingale infuses sweetness to night hours
for those listeners who never fancy hearing her on a day
a tall wall, a ladder and an iron cutter, perfectly
shapes a thief; there is a mysterious disorder
pointing the other way to every careful order.

The cactus flower and delicate butterfly on it,
brings to focus a certain delectable incongruence,
eternity has an eye resting on evanescence,
a scientist with a reverse cerebral process
alone can snake in to the origin of such nuances,
where hides the complex aesthetics of the 'other'
of what we are familiar, more fascinating than this
the universe that's the tip of an iceberg, hides from us
though, it exists here with all of the 'multiverse'
But who would institute a Nobel prize for 'otherness'
to shed light to the dark path, that would gift more astonishment to us

One night, while  watching
a swam of glowworms,
in silence,
                  I felt
they sold this idea-
      to me so quick:
"Think all you have to offer
this world, is just a drop of blue light
in few faint, repeated winks;
stich it in the dark gown
of night artistically at the earliest.
your passion is  enough to enamor
the world, it would look at you
wide- eyed.
even if you vanish soon
you'll  leave with a smile of fulfillment"
that ethereal sight, electrified my mind;
pulsating blue light speaking to the
starlit night, making it take note.
but turning around, I find them
gone already. Brief, but,
how could one forget?

Lead me, as I hover lightly on your wings, to secrets-
I always wanted to make mine, get liberated;
to hear a sweet singing bird, in poet's wordless midnight,
fly over Everglades, where the flora and fauna of soul thrive
and to embrace the sweet lust of lover's heart, where soul finds its peace.

though her face was inscrutable, like a cloudy sky,
deceptively calm she was, in her grief.
at the poet's funeral his girl didn't sob or even flinch,
true love in his life was his poetry, it was evident,
"If love is passionate, beyond all  limits like his
it would be fulfilled only in death" she said and fell mute.
when her words gushed out like blood from a ****,
they missed the firmness in her voice, that ringed aloud,
it pointed to this:  her crazy love for her lover , leaves her no choice.

In the tired light
from the fire lit in the pyre
he saw a drop of tear
quivering on her withered cheek.
He longed,
but  having no right
to console her
left without a word;
stepped in to the darkness
that unfolded its black carpet.

There is a story to be told,
either we should attempt,
together or keep it a secret.
Pain is the glue that joins us,
the story has different narratives
that won't converge, in all places
hence it is less than joyous.

Joys are but a rainbow till evening,
the rains of happiness are sparse,
                           we still are waiting
the drought destroys everything green,
love is a dying stream in between-
ego trips and never ending pain.

Let us tell the story in one voice,
let go the pain of lost choices,
you should be lying on my chest,
sobbing and I must be  consoling softly,
"Honey, don't cry, it's not your fault or mine"
still you are inconsolable in your grief.
              Then you see my eyes are
              two pools flooding in pain.

Crazily he loved the cadaverous moon,
the goddess sans merci of his dark noon.
Heady wine of love she offered him was pain,
in all *seven stages of love, his heart bled,
turned white.
                He was laid to rest in silence, in her  heart,
               when wailing violins all, fell dead in grief.

Crowded lakeside,
more than expected
on a normal day.
Hoping for a quiet
rendezvous in private
she looked aghast,
at such a turn of events,
nevertheless started
to make eyes at him;
patience wasn't her best friend.
Shutting up like a clam
he was a picture of contrast.
Every desire she expressed turned
to a love sick wood duck
soon  a flock was billing and cooing
preening and polishing in haste,
making amorous advances
with an aggressiveness suggesting
intolerance to his reticence.
They chased his silence with
irresistible  mating calls,
raising hell as if in heat,
making him regret.

Her funky , modish,  lingerie on a clothesline hung to dry,
doesn't bring to mind any wild imagery,
he just sees that: an undergarment
decency wouldn't permit to make an exhibit like this,
"My God!" he realizes with a shock"The midlife crisis has already started"

An arid desert, she was, dreaming in green still
with an array of cactus vivid and diverse, her adamence evident.
Like her other admirers,
it has left him amazed every moment his eyes had fallen on her.
He can't stop finding reasons
to be in love with her for season after season, when he arrives
swirling over her often, he fatasizes flowing as rivers over her,
but in desert, dark clouds form, even if he yearns deep, once in a while,
and the sparse rain leaves much to be desired
for the desert, parched and panting.
                          Can't do more than that  for a desert wind, to quench
her thirst for love. What this  desert has most is longing;
a wonder, the desert and wind still  continue their loving
bitter than sweet even from the beginning.

In her cryptic words
a thoughtful owl,
proclaimed aloud
secrets never known;
the horn bill was loud
in registering his objections.
Let it be hidden,  he said
like jewels in the folds of rocks,
only ones who searches deserves it.
The forest went still
the next moment;
a harmonious silence resulted,
the tussle, in it was dissolved.
The night--
quickly took over,
spread it's net of noises
inter spaced with silence-
that engulfed all discords,
orchastrated it as music,
then wrapped up everything
in darkness opaque.

In deep sleep, her  anguished voice rings a bell in my brain,
hear the screams of a woman in my blood stream,
hallucination, I loved to believe,  but then it became more frequent
at night, she whispers, her intimate secrets, without shame
in to my ears, in a seductive voice.Do I like it? she snickers
I got used to it's persuasive lilt, sometimes it  sounds like a complaint.
If I turn a deaf ear, she knows how to make me listen
Then I am all ears; become her single, faithful, captive listener.
She questions me sometimes"Tell me what you know about ***?"
I go and learn the fundas on the female of the spices,
in detail, pass the test,
wonder, how little I know about her as a person. Isn't she my counterpart?
She talks about the curtain of ignorance, that still segregates  her from him
and chides me "Will you be complete, if I didn't wake you up"

1.
*Her bleary red eyes
tired from carrying heavy load on her head-
all day long, while harsh sun was beating down,
still looks  beautiful like a doe's, in the soft light of dusk;
with wonder they peer, at the glinting necklace,
extending down the night's blue black *******.

Are they white diamonds or moon drops,
falling from the clear part of the sky
just now freed from the hold of clouds?
Like an eagle, sudden lightening swoops down,
exposing  trees hiding  in darkness,
reminding ogres, that come chasing her in nightmares.
But the flash embellishes the cloud, the shy moon takes cover;
the cloud in that moment, transforms to a sheer silvery dress-
for the moon to wear proudly,  at any temple fair.
2.
The celestial dance  of light and darkness
is stunning; makes her wonder aloud:
"Such beauty! I only need this to forget my pains"
with sweet power, it hits her, bringing to her mind,
the waves of pleasure erupted from her *****,
that she felt once, just once,  with her man.

She couldn't understand,  how it happened, life still hides some secrets.
It was like a randy male goat, barging in to her home compound,
opening the closed gate swiftly, hitting softly with its head,
for a brief moment, she didn't know what happened, and how
the waves of pleasure, swept her off her feet, she floated, like a cloud,
in her sun scorched life, that never  happened again.
3.
Existing  as a cacophony as long as it is awake, the village,
is still, went to sleep, except moon and a  few like her,
the chattering of women in the market had died down
dogs do not bark, the drunks aren't cursing dogs
or clashing with others who come their way.
Late at this hour, a lone  night owl stirs,
his urgent hoots, resound making him more egregious.
She would go to sleep, if the owl stops,
then, to his snores she would turn a deaf ear as usual,
and let him slither like a snake,
in his part of the  bed till morning breaks,
When--
it's again time for her to trek to the well too far,
to fetch water, before the women of next village,
come flocking with pots and pails.

Her wink had
four thousand
different meanings.
But the 'interpreter
of winks' picked one
altogether different;
that  changed everything,
the course of history even.

She appears a determined stare or the other, a drop of tear,
he oscillates like a pendulum, between her changing moods-
that take him by surprise.But he is blissfully at ease.
His swing every moment, spans between love and an empty space,
ebullient life and dark forgetfulness without any end.
On the periphery everything appears to have a symmetry,
in the river,water rushes towards the sea, watching it from the bank,
one thinks everything goes fine, but to see what happens in life
one needs to look deeper in to the current, keep ears closer to the ground
to understand. Love has more power than even tempered iron, you'll see,
if you understand how it works on every situation,
even surpassing your own estimation.

                 "Come hither" her  eyes plead without even words, he quickly responds,
                    his heart allows it to happen even without a thought.
                   The wind, not giving any hint, swiftly moves and caresses the flower,
                   Love is blind, plays it's games, without even logic, would you believe?
                   Let's just flow together, forgetting everything else.

The day they operated on his brain
he imagined it as his day of poetry
freedom from the pain of living,
and heard a train reciting a long poem
on love, nightmares and death
by a Chilean poet he adored,
whose name he tried to recollect, over and over again
but his train of thoughts curiously missed
that one station in each, separate attempt.
.
Did he hear anyone whispering anything about 'bad omen'?
reminding a poet killed by a dose of poison
injected by the  doctor treating him
to end the emotional ******* of
his poetry over the mind of millions
of readers
                 - and then he slowly lost orientation
in delirious state he fell in to a pit of delight and thought
about the white luminant mist  poetry, has created in his being,
all through the days of suffering love gifted him.
He received poetry as a feeling, deep, deep inside,
Emily Dickinson was to him a fragrance enveloping his consciousness,
then a feeling inexpressible, an elation, leading him to a plane higher.
His brain was a night filled tunnel, through which
the train reciting dark poems of stark beauty of death
traveled like lightening, he sat perplexed looking
at a mirror someone held before him, reflecting darkness, an eerie feeling.

That night train wailing as if  someone dear has left for ever
traveled through the surreal plane of Dali paintings.
"Life", a unfamiliar voice proclaimed aloud near him,
"Is poetry written in one's blood, which one fails
to read as it is dangerously close to one's suicide note,
that one finishes reading  only at the last minute".He hoped
they must have finished his surgery by now;
it was getting dark, a kind of mist spreading like a swarm of evil beetles,
but they were still at it, panic reigned
on  the operation table. His face was peaceful
immobile like the wings of a dead butterfly.

In her dark, crinkly map of life,
drawn from shady experiences
she courted in her forgettable past,
hope was an island fully obliterated,
not even a dot was left as a mark
nothing identifiable was there, just water.
Perplexed she stood, not knowing
how to reclaim any of it, even if it's in depth.
Then came the mysterious redeemer,
uncaring about his fate;
innocence was writ large on his face,
she roped him in to helping her.

He dived deep in to her deluged past,
dredged enough, from under,
gave her hope a shape and size,
to make an island, that would give her life.
The beauty he created for her sake was unbelievable,
no monument of love would have looked so resplendent!
That's where she brought her new lover over,
a character as shady and vicious as her,
her somersault was indeed spectacular
none had witnessed such a heartless trick, till then!
She forgot the past, the deluge that engulfed her hopes,
the mysterious redeemer and all that.

He embraced a glowing ember,
did he think,  it was a rose?
He hoped she was one, later many times,
she too wished a change, but couldn't
she wasn't a dying ember either
she was intense, spreading slow fire.

Life springs surprises, at every turn, like this one
at your expense, learn to live with it,
find out what works for you , what doesn't
This is a part of the game
it's  real to the very end.
On cold evenings, frozen nights
she was so alive, so near to his heart,
she did give warmth, they snuggled closer,
winter was when she was a great comfort
her eyes peered deep in to his soul, he felt,
what else one needs, such golden moments are heaven born.

The world we live appears strange sometimes
passing through many seasons of the heart,
winter is just one of that, at times one is  not in control.
During summer her sultry presence was terrible
she shows no will to change, she was the  season itself.
He embraced her with all his heart, how could  even think
of letting go, but  he should have,
that would have been better, for the two, perhaps.

"Don't turn bitter, see whatever bright
left in your world, don't let it go dark.." he heard his heart.
A speck, a bit of gold dust,
a smile she forgot to deny, and tender thought
about her that deeply moves his heart,
A blue flower --
he  unconsciously adorns her raven black hair
Not all  lost, though passage of time
makes the trees bare, their  garden look barren without flowers,
But winter is the best of seasons for her, think of that,
her heart brims with love, he forgets summer once more.