A Memory of a Cold Day

-N. Pushpamithra, II B.A. English

The morning was cold
and so was he.
His voice which brought warmth to our hearts;
could be heard no more.
Like the angel he was;
he ascended the stairway to heaven.
Leaving us crying and our paths diverging.
Everyday spent with him
there was laughter everywhere,
but now it feels like even the wind is still.
Not wanting to forget him;
Not wanting to let him go;
Made us wonder,
will we ever be able to get over him?

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