The Snowman

The dusk descends
And the snowfall begins
All night; through the night
Non-stop

Another dusk:
It is cold; very cold
And the snow
Is still falling

I can hear the moan
Of the wind, preparing
To snow all through
To snow all time

The cold is unbearable
But still the he stands
All alone, under the dim lit
And the frozen sky

A shrill cry
A tearful sigh
My eyes crack
To see him alone

Made of fleece with
Charcoal eyes
Embedded Deep inside
The unfathomable
Snow!

He wishes no more
He grants no more
Nor a drop rolls down
His cheeks; Ah! No more

I don’t think he laments
Over the cold
Or rather he is content
Disowning all desires

Of being in a cozy
Closed room; with fireplace
And enough warmth
To force him

To repudiate himself
Until he melts
And loses the self
Inside the prevaricating room

To be in the warmth that robs him
Of self and being
Turns him to a mere human
As tears of virgin rain trickle; He will melt

Made of frozen water
He wishes not to flip
The state; and to endure
The flogging cold .

What a wish less substance
What a content state of being
Such authority; such warmth
And no, yes no fear !

Every night you beckon,

Me to be free like you!

Of all the qualms,

That dwell inside.

Of the open and the cold!

Of the night and the wind !
Of the moans and the groans!
Of life and death!

I snip

A pair of dead scissors

Kept on the dressing table,
Made in steel
With melamine clasps;
I pick them up
To bring near
The soft curls;
They breathe
They move with my neck
Down until they touch
My back arch;
The blades pass through
The cascades
Breaking the strands
A part gazes
And lives
And the other turns
Into a lifeless
Bunch of black fleece

What all I do
To seem Beautiful!
Fake
Pretend
And
To the most
I snip

Beauty!