Seasonal Skirmishes

 

Winter spun her arms around her clear, crystal sky-sphere

and like paint falling in soap, schist coloured

through the clear sapphire sea like faults that grew moss,

stretching out its arms wide to seize and

conquer all the lands.

Her wavy nails that had tempests brewing on

its surface touched the slick, translucent

sphere fashioned by its new hue into an eye:

staring out into the world,

longing to pull in things that could help it

brighten like butter,

but it failed as Winter’s touch only gave

bloom to flint flowers that threw its pollen

as water and hail and wreaked destruction

like as if lead were falling out of the sky.

Summer threw her manicured hands onto the sphere,

startling Winter into moving her fingers

in an arc across it,

and its surface left ripples of gooseflesh-

that burned fast and bright-

like tractors ploughing a farm;

Winter, cursing,

moved across like a plucked hen, and

hurled sparks of stolen frozen love and frozen time

at Summer, who elegantly sung away the assault,

her sweet tones piercing into Winter’s charcoal skin,

lighting it up in marigold orange flames,

flames that crackled and weathered the

stony skies into soil that grew daffodils and dandelions,

riding the gay wind under deceitful summer’s gaze,

as he drank away every last drop of water

and smiled with teeth that threw light on starving

eyes, blinding enough people to ignore thirsty tongues.

 

-Mihir Rajamane 11 ISC R

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