★ ★ ★ ★


Becoming snow

It pinches you to see me whole –
Even after all the stones you cast my way.

The glass was only a reflection
Of early winter.

I would have crumbled long ago
Into the ground had I not
Given up my body form –
Of tree…
Of stone…
Of glass…?

Given up diaries and shadows
And poetry and pain
To become earth…
Become snow.

I was not your first muse
Nor will I be your last love.

I have lost count of the lovers
Who took me and cast me
For fame and gold;
For sonnets and symphonies;
For a footnote in books;
And for some simply for pleasure.
Some cast me to sermon their truths.
Some, like you, even try to assuage their rage
Through words or fire or stone…
But come the end of that season
They all left.

And I stayed behind –
The melting remnants of their inspiration
Becoming water
For winter
When I turn into the someone else’s muse

Your stones can only crack mirrors
And reflections.

My body would have crumbled long ago
Into the ground had I not
Turned into snow…

Hailing from the beautiful South Indian coastal state of Kerala, Feby Joseph is a spiritual vagabond who is still trying to figure it all out. At present all his formal education has landed him a job in a desert – in finance – so he works with numbers while words waltz around in his head. Some of his recent poems have appeared on Café Dissensun, Oratoria and EntropyMag.


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