Little white flowers

in dark grey frost;

Sleet mixed showers

of rain.

Icy rivers

in snow-lands lost;

Thorny black roses

of pain.

Singing ravens

feeding souls now tossed

from frozen corpses

in chains.

Howling winds

of death when crossed,

predator and prey

lay slain.

Scarlet streams

shimmering across

glossy white hills

and plains.

Entering the start

of this journey that costs

a man

his worldly gains.

Boarded doors and windows,

birds making way down south,

withering flowers and plants and trees

as we walk into Abaddon’s mouth

By: Viraj Belgaonkar