Shut the windows, close the door
for the freezing wind might venture in.
As the clock strikes five or even four
the setting sun is the sky’s melanin.
Dark of the night unfurls its lore
as the stars begin to flicker in.
The trees awaken with haunting roars
hypnotized by the wind and struggling.
A wild beast in on the loose,
if you listen with great care.
Sounds of distant sirens cruise,
as the city falls to grave despair.
Tensions rise and hearts are hollowed,
for no one knows what is to follow.
Except a few old souls who remember,
decades ago, one frostbit November.
The deafening silence of the atmosphere,
when they lost homes, hope, and heirs.
For today is worse beyond compare,
harmful gases everywhere.
Broken promises, a selfish purse,
as great economies barely care.
A common cause, or so they say,
plans empty as the weight of air.
Every November, they realign,
to plan a world, they’ll never find.
Restating vows they’ll never fulfil,
rewriting dreams that linger still.
-This poem has been written by Harshil (1st Year)
