A Page In the Snow Book By Siddhartha Singh

In response to this prompt from The Scene & Heard

From Michail Shneider “Snow Book (Книга Снега)…” Collection

Being born in the tropics, one learns to let go of little things,
like snow, sub-zero temperatures and fur coats,

the events of winter preceded by a hearty disclaimer,
that they are entirely a work of fiction, and bear no resemblance

to either the living, or the dead,
or those that are nestling somewhere in the middle.

There is always curry brewing in my mother’s kitchen,
besides lively conversations over roasted peanuts, and card games,

you have to look closer to spot the cracks,
in the joyous winter walls,

my mother sitting in the darkness of afternoons,
while I hibernate and,

dream of snow, wondering if I will ever see it,
before the world melts around us.