Late August nights cool burnt dry hues will soon transform – symphony of colour There is sorrow in Summer’s end; Autumn’s icy breath Winter’s warning.
A lonely bench waits for emergence of leaves, rain turning to warmth, the summer sun casting long shadows – evening lingerings. (A tanka for Ragtag
One rose dripping red, like blood from thorns – a warning? a promise? even roses die – love, too? (Written for Dark Side of the
What if days were berries growing bright, whose sumptuous juices blossomed only in Summer? How sad it would be – such limitations, disrespectful of the
Winter – the colour of my hair, a sedentary state of being, the numbing over of ambitions… These are but illusions… I am fluid, essence
Winter came early – seeped into intimate corners, froze hearts. Walls papered white, intending cheer, only accented bitter cold. Layers of submission, hope, denial, ineffectual