The season of winter madness soon returns-
Crinkled yellow pages of a poetry book
Upon the wooden table’s chillness burns.
Thoughts are fogs wherever the eyes look;

I search for words among ashes on the floor
The wind whistles impatiently at the door
Eyes are tired in seeking light from the sun.
The self is a battle; I wait to see who won.

Only this single question, where are you?
Forever and ever is lurking on my mind
I wish someone will help an answer find
For every reason brings its questions anew.

I turn, at times, to what was said before.
Nothing, oh nothing ever was fully true
Only shards of truth that prick the inmost core,
Heaps of broken images that Time accrues.

All, all, is within this frozen mind
Crackt under the force of the torrid wind.
Till this winter’s madness is left behind,
Comfort, you must only come from within.