My ancestor, a man
of Himalayan snow,
came to Kashmir from Samarkand,
carrying a bag
of whale bones:
heirlooms from sea funerals.
His skeleton
carved from glaciers, his breath arctic,
he froze women in his embrace.
His wife thawed into stony water,
her old age a clear
This heirloom,
his skeleton under my skin, passed
from son to grandson,
generations of snowmen on my back.
They tap every year on my window,
their voices hushed to ice.
No, they won't let me out of winter,
and I've promised myself,
even if I'm the last snowman,
that I'll ride into spring
on their melting shoulders.

by Agha Shahid Ali

Comments (2)

Sensual and loaded with desire. I've enjoyed it, Karen. With warmth, Gina.
I think I need a bucket of 'cold water' hihihihihi a little early here for this Karen? hihihihi nice one dave xxxx have a nice Day.Ola