Flames  ~ poetry

Your yellows seeped through my blinds, I tried to stop, but tapes fell short. You didn’t listen.

Your yellows cut through the fog, I was comfortable, but you incessantly knocked. You still didn’t care.

Your yellows tapped at the ice, I held tight, but the cracks did not stop. Now you were adamant but weakened.

Then it was your blues, faint glow, that took the charge, that fought till the end and broke the dam. Hot at the core, it merged moulded and shaped the flow.

The cold didn’t stand a chance.


P.C Monimoy Bhattacharyya

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