The air between the spaces of hair each pass,
oh this cold air, tracing every inch
of my open skin,
its presence confirming,
no, I don't need a jacket,
I feel the warmth that people feel
beneath a cozy blanket,
playing with me, the breeze,
as I to think, lift from paper, pen away,
oh I know you're still there,
I feel your cold embrace,
you don't need no games
to connect your beating heart to mine,
I feel your presence as you make me alive,
wish, I could see this garden of grass
from eyes that bear wings,
on same soil, sitting as me,
walking through each stem of grass,
some green, some like wheat,
I envy the depth, details those little creatures see;
why the sun, you fill the day with heat,
unlike November early mornings of
soft, cold breeze, light enough to see,
is it, you do not want us to be distracted
by nature as we work the day?
Then, I say, not failed but not either mastered the art,
for your light feeds glitters to petals,
to water that reflects, reverting back
our human eyes;
and just as I thought you took away
my cocoon of cold, she winked
back at me, dancing leaves,
dancing upon my skin,
oh, I see, you're still here,
well then, have these words wrote I
beneath your cold sunshine.
© Pragati Jain