Cold Poem by Anil Kumar Panda

In the foggy weather
When the visibility is limited to
Less than or equal to ten yards
It is high time to lay on the
Spruced up garden and look at
Your hands; palms are squeezed
As lemons in cold and fate line
Vanishes suddenly at the base of
The little finger

The cold has gripped the teeth
And the upper row tries to push
The lower one down into the gums;
The grasses hold the drops of dew in
Their tips and rotate them like tiny balls;
There is a susurration in the hedge
The lizard has changed place seeking
Warmth in the elusive sunlight