• arya_abhipsa 6w


    14 December 2020
    00 : 00

    ( Letter to a beloved December born )


    December is here , cuddling it's children in his bare , icy cold arms , the children he has fondly named as Winter Gales , Snowstorms , Dewdrops and Frozen Clouds . These kids find their simple childish pleasures of life by making the sun their own , it's warmth they've madly fallen for and leaving the world and all of us beneath them shivering before cuddling the warm blankets and smooching the cup of hot chocolate .

    What wicked folks they're !

    Ain't this month a bit mightier than the other elevens , courageous enough to announce how the once awaited year is finally ready for departure when the month , itself comes to a halt ? December knocks on our doors and in its welcome song , we all sit down beside the fireplace to count the days remaining in that year , the days which will never knock on our doors again , our huffed breaths slowly promising some festive carols on the 25th . But wait , we don't start the count from 1 do we ? It goes something like this …

    31 , 30 , 29 , 28 , 27 . . .

    And the day we reach at day 1 , we stop midtrack and take a look back at our snowy and clumsy footprints we have imprinted on the diary pages of this year , some stumbling , some confident , some lazy , some careful , others a bit careless . The footprints recite tales of unfulfilled or fulfilled desires , unappreciated or appreciated accomplishments , unwiped or wiped tears , inaudible or audible laughters and starting the clock again , from a pair of zeroes , we start the count again from 1 .

    There's a tender hint of beauty hidden deep within the icy layers of December . In between the nostalgia of a long gone autumnal gush over deserted roads that waltz alongwith the abandoned crimson leaves and the long awaited spring that unfolds the dozing off flower buds , there lies this season , the
    / w i n t e r s /

    Hope might look frozen , but it is camouflaged in the warm cup of my mom's tea , in the lovingly knitted sweaters and mittens knitted by my granny , in the soft furry blanket my dad wraps me up at night , in the wintry white snow that makes me shrug off my love for the bright hues of spring , when the frozen snow dazzles under the fragile icy sunrays and lastly , / in your pen and your soul that is adorned by the power to stop the beating heart and is clothed in a kindness to make the numb heart beat again . /

    What are you my love ? Are you a mere human walking along with us , tracing the rough paths of life or the safest shelter for kindness , love and a power to move the world just with your scribbled poetries ?
    To be honest , I'm in favour with the latter a lot more .

    You complain of blue ink spilling all over your dress or stopping your thoughts on the paper mid sentence . I know the poor thing well . These consequences result from its astonishment when it inks your thoughts . Look at it closely , ain't it a bit nervous ? Nervous to wonder if it is brave enough to present a piece of your thoughts , a piece of you , in front of this world.

    This month couldn't be more kinder when it offered us one of the greatest poetries , that being / y o u /
    And I'm left to wonder , if you're another of December's daughters , hidden from this cruel world by the fatherly protection of this month or are you his secret inspiration and the reason even the icy month looks so appealing . ( I'm left to wonder )

    My hands that once carried the fallen dried leaves of autumn are now waiting to get mositenend with the coldness of winter's snow . Yes , it's freezing cold , but your words and your smile warm it all . The world might be feeling fragile under the frozen sky , but oblivious it is to the fact that all of us are homing inside our hearts , / a small sapling of beauty / that is slowly growing to unfold itself

    ~ when the warm months of spring will knock on our doors again

    ~when the sky will wake up again opening the doors for the sun that will drench the sleeping pansies in its warm love , cooing "rise and shine my darlings"

    ~when the sunbeams will knock on the doors of the butterflies again

    ~when the flowing river will look welcoming again

    ~when the skin on our bare arms will be burning underneath the sun , but we will continue to dance again

    A small flower of hope grows in us , a bigger one of love grows in you .
    // Just like December , you're a
    crystallised apricity too //

    ~ From your beloved ,

    Happy birthday ( Saeng il chukayo ) bae
    ( @ak_anjali_daydreamzz )

    @mirakee @writersnetwork #pod
    #daechwita_bday #suga_bday

    Read More