December

The skies were no more vibrant,
Possessed by melancholy
The days were sluggish.

The thick frost on windows
Made the outside world more obscure.
Each second as the clock ticked
There was something that slipped past,
Nostalgia struck with each hour.

Every figment disappeared in fog,
The departing footsteps were dominant.
Burning woods flickered
To the ruthless winds.
Each gust pierced through
The murky perceptions.

Draped in all white like a bride,
The moon hung there in solitary.
Drowned in mist,
Words became insipid.

Like tears rolling down,
The dew from drenched leaves

Trickled deep into the soil.

Silence was ambiguous,
December drew a faint line
Between life and lifelessness.