Reflections of Winter Sun…

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wizened winter sun
is like a faint smile
on a face wreathed in wrinkles,
as it gazes with eyes
reminiscing sepia yesteryears,
its rays on snow-salted pine tops,
like golden honey trickling down
icy contours of popsicles.

it remembers its juvenile days
when it woke up to
scented yawns of frangipani
its blonde mane laced in dewdrops,
while scores of drowsy sunflowers
reflected its lazy grin,
and its face was a ripe red plum
staining brightening azure
in its vermilion juices, at dawn.

it recalls sweltering days of summer
that were like harshness of blazing cinders
frosting hourglass existences
in sweat beads of moisture,
remembering the chiaroscuros spun
on shady looms of palm fronds,
the balmy hours flavored
in sweet-sour sips of lemonades,
and longevities of august days ending
in variegated poetics of sultry dusk
winking in fluorescent fireflies.

tempest clouds tinted in grays
are like salt and pepper maturity
of a middle aged person,
shivering, geriatric sun of snow
remembers rainstorms with howling winds
tossing its drenched realms like a frisbee,
while lightening flashed as spluttering mustard
in hot oil on frying pan moments~
its silver arms like opportunity’s limbs,
and trumpeting thunder rattled
introspections of cobwebby windows,
until rainbows concluded this rancor.

cinnamon days glowing in mandarin sighs
of a sun preoccupied with armchair reflections
are remembered by it in december mists,
it recalls taste of apple cider and pumpkin pies
gracing the table tops of october,
soft,rustling melodies reverberating on
piano keys of cobblestones,
are remembered in fractured fragments
of frayed and orphaned lyrics
by a sun with memories lurking on
the whimsical edge of age-lorn dementia.

now peering through foggy days
with eyes covered in presbyopic lenses
and scales of withering memories,
sun slowly walks along chilled brevities
of faded days of winter,
drinking in not the bland barren scenes
but reliving the memories of brighter days
rifling through them as snapshots,
as a twilight etched in stale crayons
unfolds as an epilogue to another winter day…

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You are No Longer Here…

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vines of roses and wisteria,
citrus blossoms
and sweet-sighed frangipani,
boughs laden in bouganvillia,
bottle brushes and hibiscuses in red,

variegated dahlias
and conventional sunflowers
with many an anonymous flower~
bloom today in April on
this fragrant spring morning–
each with an echoing sussurus
of your inherent beauty.

they bloom as lovely as ever
the glory of nature in
our front yard born of your efforts,
but as always today somehow
the joy they give is missing,

I feel your touch in the softness
of their fondled petals,
and your smile in their pollen ‘grins’,
today you are not there
to savor coffee with me in
our cherished, nurtured alcove

and I feel my thirst become eternal
never to be quenched by
another draught of caffeine…