The Cruel Winter The cold descends from snow-clad mountains Like water that does from the fountains, It spreads slowly across the plains Like the relentless monsoon rains; Folks tremble with the gripping cold Which has everyone in its hold; Huddled in groups sit the homeless While children cry in a voice tremulous; Around the common fire they squat Over the worn straw mat; Wrapped in a hole-filled rug, They hold the children in a tight hug; Nightlong huddled they sit Waiting for the cold to quit; They wait for the sun to shine And their limbs some strength to gain; The cold their tired limbs numb, To the biting cold, many succumb, Rigid bodies lie with unshut eyes Where the ground is colder than ice; Teeth chatter and hands tremble, When they stand, they stumble, Cold wind cuts through their skin, Their faces refuse to bear a grin; One cannot see beyond one’s nose When smog and fog float very close; The streets are shrouded in white Hiding everything from one’s sight; Many hundreds die in the winter’s cold, It spares neither the bold nor the old, Emaciated rays touch the earth, For the homeless, it’s a time sans mirth. Raghav R 16.12.2016 © Dec 2016, Raghavendran