Standing here
you couldn’t see farther than
your breath could reach.
Your feet could discover
miles and miles of pale moss
almost suffocating the ground,
relentlessly.
Every breath that
escapes you,
an obscure cloud;
a white cloud.
Yet amid the dread,
a splash of spring hues
breaking through a palette of
all sorts of greys and greens and blues.
The vine, you say,
seems misplaced.
But wait.
Stop.
Give it a minute;
possibly another too.
It will grow on you
ever so slowly,
yet eventually,
with a lasting impression
of its incomparable beauty.
-Juhi
B.Com (Hons.) ,Third-year
(Edited by Guniya and Pallavi)
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