
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