Poetry comes from the things that we see around us, the people who touch our lives and the myriad of emotions that we feel. Writing a poem is a way of putting everything into perspective in a concise way and relieving oneself of the bottled up feelings inside the mind when they become too much to take. Writing is meditation for people like myself. But not everything can be written about. Some things are better left untouched by imagination because over-complicating certain situations will only lead to trouble. And this trouble arises from one’s own soul because certain things in life are such that writing about them can destroy you. Trying to forget about certain events or moving on by jamming everything into a poem is not something the conscience will allow to be done. So, they remain as an ache inside one’s heart. The poem is about the one that made me realise that I could write poems about more than just one person. The ache is not because of a heartbreak or anything romantic and hence, will never be written about.

The year it snowed
Where it never snowed before
In a small city, a dot on the globe
And you shivered because of the cold
A chill down the spine
A cruel twist of fate
Rain poured on the snow, it froze
So did your heart which cried in vain
The Sun chose to hide
And I tried and tried
Did you ever get to know?
For you, I wished to melt the snow
Flakes and ice
The Sun still out of sight
One day, I pray
You get to see the light
If the snow buries me within
By the time it all ends
In a small city, a dot on the globe
Where it never snowed before
Will you try to remember my name
The one whose heart you held as your own
Maybe shiver because of the love
As I look on from above

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