Chilly wind bangs with a sullen fist
on your eyelids
You close your eyes, the eyelashes stand guard
to be uprooted by the stony fingers of the winter gloom.
The eyelids are blown
to let the seeping wind into your skull.
It has long tried to push
the dreams of white,
of God’s light into ignorant heads.
But my words echo and make you relentless
Oh, friend, thou art being misled!
Break free from the grasp of winter
Rush, not enough time left
Latch onto my outstretched hand
Pull yourself into the unseen realm.
Ask not what I intend to do with you
You are a trace of the perfect man
Pray to your favourite deity
Hope for the best blessing you can get
Trust me with my plan
I, I am more than a phantom man.
Freezing breaths, dry throat,
clattering teeth and bones,
piercing cries, unnerving pleas,
find no place in my summer home.
Let no pain agonize you
or your best of fancies deceive you
Do not let Death haunt you
Make it your private servant
in my summer home.
– Aashish
9th February, 2015
Random Rumbles 
Whoa! This is amazing!
The metaphors, the construction, the thought, beautiful. :’)
Thank you so much, Prerna!
I really like the way how you spoke about the summer home being a refuge in the last stanza. It is amazing.
Thank you so much! Keep reading. 🙂
Great! Keep writing.
February? Clearing old summer stock? 😀
Hahha, yeah, this is an old one.
I really like this. It made me feel kind of protected 😊 Please keep on writing!
That’s a unique response.
Thank you, Sonja. 🙂