WINTER IS COMING

“People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy.” - Anton Chekhov

And what Mr Chekhov implies is that the seasons are much more acutely felt and more likely to affect our mood when we are unhappy… Even in the midst of Spring’s delights a melancholy soul will make of the joyous season a funereal feast, the flowers merely a doleful accoutrement to the hearse. What if Summer’s glorious sun shines bright and hot? If one is sad, the heat’s enough to fever one’s brow and cause one’s brain to run into nightmarish places hotter than hellfire. And Autumn’s bounty and mellow delights will be overtaken by the dejection of the falling leaves, the rampant decay and falling rain. As far as Winter goes, a sorrowful heart may simply be itself and attune perfectly to the season’s frozen emptiness and endless despair.

Winter is Coming

The sun’s trajectory has shortened,

Now that his chariot runs a course

Much closer to the horizon.

The night is quicker to claim

The earth as her realm

And the moon barks orders

At the brilliant (but oh, so cold) stars.

The wind howls at night

And even the wild dogs are tamed

Becoming silent in obeisance.

Rain comes and falls, and fails

To tether the wind who takes each drop

And spins it into long, liquid streams

Until they fall like waving sheets.

The cold freezes puddles solid

And no leaves, no fruits no flowers

Survive the blizzard cruel.

And even colder still, inside,

My heart keeps on beating,

Gelid though it may be

To keep me alive, me who has died.

Like Summer, you have left me

And unlike Autumn you’ve given me

No ripe fruits, no grain, no berries.

My crop was poisoned by bitter tears,

Endless regrets, false promises, nightmares;

My Winter’s deep, bleak and long-lasting

Expecting no Spring’s arrival.