The winter bites like a rabid hound,
Its fangs harsh and razor sharp,
Into flesh and bones
Sinks and gnaws;
Still insatiable,
Its unseen tongue does the trail,
And paws do impatiently pace.
This Season strips of modesty trees,
Its searing breathe robs spring of beauty
And pillages autumnal bounty
Of fading flowers and grassy green,
And hills and vales, sere brown to see.
This icy mountain canine
Presage snows and sunless days,
Hot in pursuit of receding
Monsoon rainfalls,
On its annual year ending forays.
Alas! The fading and faltering land
Bids farewell to southerly birds;
A time of sullen and icy silencewhen
Fethered fanfare’s no longer heard.
Oh! How I long for warm home,
How does Khaling call?
Its hills a garland of silver snow,
The maize fields, dusty and dry,
Dampened sound of Jerichhu,
On its downward, southerly errand
When the cold bites like a hound here.
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