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Sankhajit Bhattacharjee Poem 167

Scientific Research Fellow in University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee


When red blood gets frozen

its color turns blue-

it’s not the sign of autocracy here-

it means the cruelty of December and January.

Activities go into hibernation

or sleep under the blankets-

lethargy strikes the soul.

Life and living turn into snow-

under sunlight they glitter from above

but the pulse rate becomes too slow to be detected from inside.

Winter sits on the throne

and dictates with all her supreme power:

‘Sun rays, you turn feeble.

Wind, you pierce like pin.

Life, you become cold like death!’

© 2021 Sankhajit Bhattacharjee

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