Words and winter
share a bond
borne of snow

and whispers of faith
from mountains to birds
to trees to men

because winter is when
hearts are frozen,
palms frostbitten,
spirits burnt to ice
amidst the onset of turmoil —

and words breathe life
into deadened tree logs
buried under
the weight of the world.

Words do all
the melting, mending
and healing
one poem at a time

and words then become surges
of infinite feeling, keepers
of verse,
enabling sustenance of not
just body, but also spirit

not just spirit,
but also soul.

not just sustenance,
but also progress.

Even as the world’s wizards
design anecdotes
for broken spirits
and time weaves
her woolen blankets
across lacunae of the universe,

words begin to heal
and the world begins
to feel.

there are words, words, words
floating in time
as in jars of human construct

and there are remnants
of wanderlust and stardust.