Freshly fallen snow on a crisp wintry morning is so white, pristine in its beauty, to me it is like a maiden, a virgin, untouched, unspoiled...when the pre-dawn moon shines with silvery whiteness on the snow, it is magically ethereal...
Sun, Moon and the Virgin Snow
Moon frolics teasingly with the virgin SnowThe pearly white young snow
Kissed ever so tenderly
By the soft moon beam
Sparkles silver bright,
With tenderness aglow,
On the silvery moonlit night
The entire world gets enveloped
In a misty, milky pellucid haze,
And the moon-
In it's pre-dawn ecstasy-
Goes to sleep wrapped up
In soft and fluffy clouds...
While I, rushing off to my daily drudge,
Stop and gaze, at the beauty of pre-dawn,
At the snow and the moon,
And their interplay...
The Sun wakes up
To this magical morn,
From it's starry chamber of Night,
For a moment is captivated
By beauty of the slumbering snow,
It lingers a while on its delicate flakes,
And slowly, very slowly-
Almost imperceptibly-
It enters into each flake,
The flake wakes up to its tender touch,
And blushes pink, self-consciously...
At her response, all aglow,
The Sun breaks up into
A multicoloured rainbow
Of violet, indigo, blue, green & yellow,
With orange and red to follow...
Their union of joy, lights up the world,
Bathing it in a golden hue:
The birds, overjoyed at this,
Break into sweetest melodies of yore,
That they have been singing
For centuries and more,
The self-same songs
Like symphonies flow
From their supple throats...
The trees, shedding all their shame,
Stand denuded of their green apparel,
Open their arms to the virgin snow,
The snow envelops their naked boughs,
And covers them completely,
Branch to branch, twig-to-twig, bough-to-bough,
Settling on them softly
With tender-feathery touch,
So shyly, so bashfully,
That, even if the wind happens to gush by,
Leaves the branches immediately,
Scattering over the Earth, that
It has already covered the night before
With a snow-white fluffy quilt...
The evening comes, and the setting Sun,
Sends warm slanting rays-
All orange, red & golden bright,
To kiss the tender snow good-bye...
The foreplay of the morn,
Now replaced by the passion of the eve,
The snow all-aglow,
With the passion of the last Tango,
With the beloved Sun,
Turns red with golden fervor-
By now the dye is cast-
The Sun is her master,
And she takes up all its colours,
Reflecting the joy of the parting Sun,
In each flake and each snow-drop,
Melting away sometimes,
To the warm touch of the Sun,
When it burns with the fire of passion,
At the peak of its heat...
The Sun says good-bye-
But not before it has
Subjugated the virgin snow,
And coloured it bright,
With all its passionate might,
Just before its final flight,
In the bridal finery of orange and gold...
The Snow cannot contain the bliss,
With the Sun in every pore,
She sparkles with joy,
And is no more that coy,
And is not afraid to face,
The cold, dark and gloomy night...
Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh, UP, India
Copyright©: Zoya Zaidi
This poem recaptures the memories of my posting during internship, in Moscow suburbs: when I left home at 7.30 on the cold January morning, the moon would be shining bright- the snow silvery white; When I got out of the underground, the day was just beginning to break; I had to ride a bus through the woods to reach my hospital; The Birch-woods, interspersed with log cabins covered with freshly fallen snow (during this one of the coldest winters of –35 to –40C), looked right out of a Christmas card; when the slanting rays of the rising sun broke into a rainbow, over the sparkling snow, I watched in delightful awe; On my way back at 4pm, the sun would be setting; I took a walk through the woods to watch the glow of the setting sun on the snow...it was heavenly...the scenes are still etched in my memory like a water colour landscape even after so many years...
Poetry by Zoya Zaidi
Read 1922 times
Written on 2006-01-05 at 11:42
Tags Snow
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