by Atul Chandra Sarkar
There’s definitely something in lonely December,
That melts into tears my heart,
For twelve long months we have been together,
And now we are asked to part.
I remember watching the unabashed Autumn,
Slowly shedding its verdant outfit,
I recall the footfall mingled crunchy song,
Of dry leaves and twigs, which had turned unfit.
How the song of crickets and croak of frogs,
Made rainy, moonless nights eerie,
The incessant knocks on doors and windows,
Would make day and night dreary.
Then suddenly in the quiet of the night,
Spring would make the branches smile again,
The kiss of the first rays would obliterate,
The sorrows of absence and its pain.
The first frosty breeze heralds Winter,
From trunks waft the smell of naphthalene,
Warmers and coats take a sigh of relief,
Dusted, dry-washed, once again clean.
Suddenly in the eyes of children creep,
Reveries and dreams of gifts and prize,
They half-sleep at night and grope for it,
Under their pillows, in the middle of night.
To some gifts comes, but to some it does not,
Some sulk as others laugh with glee,
My childhood vacantly questions itself,
Why Father X’mas never came to me.
Yet, I am not at all disheartened,
Though nostalgic, I can frolic on any street,
Age has made me a Father Christmas like whom,
Little children, with gifts I love to greet.
Last updated September 17, 2022