Symphony in White

The winter morning emerges reluctantly
From the dark blanket of mist-laden night:
The hesitant light, made silver by the fog,
Enters slowly from the Eastern windows;

Outside, the pines and aspens are heavy
With snow that fell silently in the night.
The whole world has vanished into the sea
Of white: nothing exists outside my home.

A cup of tea with wisps of rising steam
By my bedside tells me I’m not alone.
My white quilt still retains a soft fragrance
Of one who was here and may return yet.

Diptesh Ghosh