by Ramakanta Das

Over the years,
December’s recurring message
to me was one of overwhelming doom.

I have been feeling the touch
of its icy hand on my dormant flesh.
But of late, it seems to freeze
deep into the depths of my bones
and solidify the pattern of my dreams.

In the beginning,
I used to be scared of the threat of December
and later I declared in an adamant tone
that I was fed up
with the monotony of his hollow threats.

He understood the import of
my overt threat
and left my sight in a huff.

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