Near the distant horizon wood mingles in the azure
With the snow covering the tips of pines
Snowflakes dance in an early spring
But so deserted today is the Chinar.
Afternoon:
Frozen whispers
Melt with warmth of love
Sound of the shaky surviving leaves
Vibrate in a speechless wood.
Evening:
In the story of an afternoon
Where evening and night can still wait
Lost Moorhen searches for her mate
Somewhere snow turned her white
She quivers with fear.
Night:
Full moon reflects on
Captivating mirrors
Outside the snow falls
Inside my dreams shiver.
Once a poet in a wood had wondered to select a path less traveled by
Indeed she chose the same path that was less traveled
She had to cross gorges, forests, beds of thorns and dense darkness
No one held her hand, still she crossed the forest with a valiant smile.
