I walk around an unknown town,
Seeing strangers pulling on their coats
To cover their drowsing arms
Stuttering to keep the cold winds on their skin
But where I come from, winter has warmth.
It holds promises of homecoming
Of kin lost amongst the dried summer grounds.
“Come snow, Come my brother.”
As I exhale the foreign air,
My inwards memorise the melodies
Of my land, taught under the blankets of snow
And burning coal.
And what heart remembers the mind never forgets.
The whirling of the snowflakes amongst the embers,
Embracing the land of the saints as devotees deep in prayer.
My mind goes back to the ropes of snow,
As ladders reaching up to God.
And if someone touches the ends of my arms
They’ll feel ice on the edges of my skin.
My cold hands bear witness to the memories of my home
That is too small to be kept just inside the heart.
So the warmth of my land’s winter,
Melts them like blood, to flow through my veins.
And my body becomes a treasury for men
Who fear the cold to choose from.
At night, when I am engulfed in fear of forgetfulness
I touch my sleepless arms
To remember the strength of where I come from.
I remember that
“Come winter, they’ll call me back.”
