A chilly breeze.
I am the last blossom to hold strong against frostbite in the night.
Scornful whispers behind my back,
Quiet yet,
Harsh as a winter’s gale.
Cutting,
Shredding green facades passing.
Bitter cold.
I am one of a million snowflakes.
Different not spectacular.
No snowman’s folly for me,
No Christmas card capture,
No immortal snow globe’s winter wonderland.
Short lived,
Melted by longer days.
A fleeting warmth.
I am a single blade of grass,
The first,
The tallest.
Green and in my glory,
Cut so short.
Then discarded to dry.
Only to be washed away by showers from above.
Boiling hot.
I am an ant,
Swift, determined and hopeful.
Searching for only a morsel,
A crumb.
Until set ablaze,
By magnified Sun.
A twisted game of little giants.
And then I am a blossom,
A lonely reincarnation.
Again.
About the Creator
Talented Black creators spotlight: Catherine Nyomenda (Chap 3).
Catherine reminds me of an enigma wrapped within a riddle. When she writes, she skips between the poetic and the dramatic. Her highlights of the African lifestyles of herself, of authors whom she admires, and the many nuances of love keeps you wondering and pondering the passage of life.
By Novel Allen2 days ago in Chapters
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