Winter

Why do I find winter so beautiful?
There is no singing lark in the dark woods.
No flowers bloom in the barren valleys,
The babbling song of the stream is frozen.

Yet, the bare arms of trees, stretch skyward,
Towards the emptiness of endless space:
As if they seek something beyond their reach,
As if some news of spring had filtered through.

You are not with me, and perhaps for this,
I am swept by all that is incomplete;
Till even your absence is lost to me
In these winding mist-laden winter roads.

Diptesh Ghosh