That time of winter 

The early sun seen from the window

as the train runs sleepily.

The meadows, the reeds, and the men.

seen through the mist and wind.

The winter sun is yet to cast shadows

The wistful fog.

The fog comes in its way. 

The train has travelled through the night.

Keeping awake ,

impossible was the sleep. The train,

the time and the river, a combat that

pierced the air. The train

hurtled like an insurgent wave

across the invisible sea of night.

A parting touch now

The night has left.

I look forward to the return 

of the reluctant sun 

as if from the past,

that morning I absorbed 

like a thirsty soul

on the tracks of life.

The sunbeams filtered and made their way

from the filigree of winter leaves.

It hurts. The beauty hurts.

The pain, the anguish exacerbates

as it did on that winter morning 

as the sun struggled to push the boundaries and reach the soul.

Sushama Karnik,

3 December 2023.