Of Seasons and Diaries

By Brinda Mitra

Flip the pages over, 

You will see words which make no sense. 

A myriad of colours, rainbows and 

Butterflies that roam the forest green. 

With laughter and glee, 

Drenching the diary with overflowing love. 

Flip the pages over. 

You will see bright, sunny skies, 

Scorching heat and lazy afternoons, 

And thoughtful evenings wrapped in stories 

With friends, kin, and imaginations galore, 

That will send warmth through your veins. 

But be careful when you flip the next few. 

They’ll give you grey skies and heavy clouds, 

Some with rains and thunderstorms; 

Some with a light breeze and serein; 

Some with gloomy mood swings 

Of the princess that never was. 

Yet amidst, you will find brown leaves, 

Signalling the arrival of festivities. 

Hustle and bustle and crowds unknown, 

That know not the limit of a heart’s desire, 

Or that of the moment passing by. 

Further still, you can see the snow, 

Covering the soles of your feet 

Like a thick blanket spread on the floor. 

Beauty is cold; 

Freezing time in the sand-clock, 

When you sit back to enjoy 

A hot soup in your room. 

Out of the window you can see 

Snow-angels flying down to douse the fires of Hell, 

To soothe the burnt souls of Lucifer and his friends. 

Remember, my friend, beauty is cold… 

In the middle of some page, you will find me, 

Wandering the seasons like a free bird, 

Or sitting in the grass like a wildflower – 

Feeling the wind blow on my face, 

Caress my skin with the dance of daisies, 

And fly my soul away somewhere far; 

Maybe it is the land where Alice was lost… 

For once, I wish I had that fate. 

But life is no less than Wonderland, 

Albeit more cruel, and dark and cold. 

Sometimes scorching, burning, and scalding; 

And here I sit, my friend, amidst all. 

Do call out when you see me, darling, 

I shall surely smile and wave back.

By Brinda Mitra