Into The First Cold Poem by JAYDEEP SARANGI

Before me now a framed picture lies—
a little shadow of Juliet's balcony in Verona
with the dawning grace, little slant;
of scholarly wisdom on her strong eyes.

I sit in the park where old men and women
search for their shadows growing somewhere.
Looking at them I realise my clothes are out dated,
my habits are not sharp like surgeons, athletes on ground.

I wait for the chisel of the mind, seeded rarely..
Immersed in the lover's pride, hardening the heart
she finds her own daily schedule in mirrors, the rain's choir
on pink curtains, my friend gifted her from Jhargram.