Season of Hope

The shivers
that wake me up
at somber nights
are nothing but
gelid spells of
lingering touches
frozen in the
immured stretches
of congealed past

the lost summers
are patches on my skin
of parched caresses
and scorched fondles
Oh! How I undermined
the repercussions of
desiccated memories

but the springs
in my eyes
ask me to hold on
the trecharies
dead and burried
would manure
the blooms to come
they say
deceptions bygone
shall inundate
the barren brown days
with cascades of blue
giving way to
virescent grass of hope
I am told

so I wait
under the caliginous sky
where my tenebrous fears
hide in the folds of murk
until my dreams unfurl
and soar with a leap of faith
in the lambent eminence of
splendid sanguine aurora
elegantly emanating from
a slick turn of time.

~ Chhaya