Juxtaposition of hopeful despair

Rupam Dutta

All the colors of time

spinning on their brittle axis

The yellow hows, the purple ifs,

and the blue whys

Winter has not just set in,

it was always there

Summer is just an illusion, always was

Just the way we are wounded,

today and forever

Like burnt matchsticks –

still warm after the flame has gone out

And we climb the mountains