The silence mornings
Catnapped days
Chilled evenings and frozen nights
Muting the restless city
Cuddling with uncertainty.
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Its own one,
Blanketing by the doubtfulness of fog
The coldness is warming all relations,
As if siren of unprecedented vanity.
From roads to government,
From body to soul,
From old to stranger,
From Self to other,
Winter is cooking the conspiracy.
I hope,
Soon the death of coldness
And the birth of hopefulness of spring
Will be loomed out.
