Winter Poem by Shruti Goswami

In the stillness of impending winter
As chills of wind flow by,
Cold and forlorn;
I tossed and turned the dried rose petals,
In the coziness of the bowl.
Withered they were, crumbling to feather touch,
A sad sweet smell wafted,
Touching a delicate chord.
As death came to them,
Through the wind and the sun,
So shall it come to me
With a choker of white pearls.
My soul is untouched
By the sun and the moon,
The wind and the rain;
My mortal remains shall transcend;
Like the everlasting feel of love and pain,
Like the erotic Luna that wax and wane;
Like the sound of flowing water
As a boon or a bane,
Or the kiss of rainbow,
That cares not for profit or gain.