Beneath The Frost, I Bloom

By Vyshakh Puthiyedath

The cold froze my thoughts and the shards pierced my shell.

As my verses gasped for the final words, the winter guarded my secrets,

still waiting for the summer to revive them and read.

The frost etched its memory across my bones,

while shadows whispered of the warmth I had once known.

Each frozen syllable lingered, brittle and silent,

like a song trapped beneath ice, yearning for breath.

Yet somewhere, beneath the hush of snow and night,

a pulse remained — subtle, insistent, unyielding.

It trembled through the shards, coaxing light through the cracks,

promising that when the thaw comes,

my words will bloom again, fierce and unafraid.

By Vyshakh Puthiyedath