Remembrance of a bitter season thrown upon the world,
when blood and bone would fertilize as fiefdom’s flags unfurled,
entrenched in mud, the good intentions blown apart by fear,
if only Spring might rear its head and Winter disappear.
The night pulls in and the sky is dark
And the Sun has long since set
The light of the moon behind heavy clouds
Muffled beams on black pavements pirouette
Shadows lurk and impose their gloom
The bite of a winter that’s on the prowl
Sends shivers down your spine
It is said that the God Himself
descended on Earth, took Ram’s form;
Was made to suffer hard we hear
by those who willed to break the norm.
Ram would soon have Ayodhya ruled
had He not been sent into exile;
He dwelt in woods for years fourteen
with his wife and brother agile.
