A Winter Carol
The snow-capped hills I stare through,
by Saheb Mohapatra
And what I gaze beside a wood full of oaks,
Sculptured mists in each long bough,
With each twig of cuckoo and no more croaks,
And frozen waves like a white-manned troop,
As if they're blind and their shores in dark,
And far away drizzles with each one's own group,
O'er peerless beetles beneath all wet barks.
Sun's now hidden and nights in dream,
With light clouds at edges as black as ink,
And icy lakes with drowned man's sweet scream
And you go deep in it in each erroneous blink.
And what I see are joys in million gowns of dew,
All like happy tears of earth in an eon, new.