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It is always February in the land of those who wait
Spring is just beyond reach just as is joy and is speech
There is silence cold as ice for the song birds have fled
And have not returned yet to the splendor of a spring awakening
The buds on trees hold promise but no proof that promises are always kept
The winter wheat is still green in the fields
The foal and fawn haven't been birthed yet
The ants have gone missing, the peacock hasn't been seen preening
The bees are huddled in their hives
The bears in their cave, the rabbits in their burrows
The fish and the mermaid have stayed low to stay alive
As the pond froze in patches in the chill of the gloaming
The smell of winter is the smell of absence
It is the taunt of the memory of fragrant limes and jasmine sweet
It is the cruel longing for the first droplets of rain after the summer's heat
February reeks of the dark and dank and the decaying
~ Sonali
