Winter On Fire Poem by Saroj Padhi

Winter creeps into my sleeves
like a pickpocket's stealthy hand
groping the dark insides
of my insipid skin
to steal moments of warmth
long lost to the tyranny of an ever eluding Spring,
but to return as a colder wind to the poor hamlets
to douse the wrath of farmers
who burn acres of drought-hit crops in protest
against apathy of the officers;

warm clothes rot inside wardrobes
vegetables crave for drugs to fight pests
and romance is at an all time low
marking loss of zest for seasonal fests.

Where shall I go this Winter
with my desires wilting like greying leaves
inside diaries of old lovers
and without the joy of cold-caused shivers?

I lie here on bed of burnt stubbles
waiting for dew enough to feed my nightly love
under a lone half Moon fighting dark in starless sky
with pain of elusive menarche in womb in constant sob.