Monday, 2 December 2019


by Shikhandin

I have grown unused to this
tightening of skin,
peeling of husk from heel

seasonal birds look at me strangely
for I do not remember
the shiver in their songs
I do not remember
sleet stung leaves, now

a quiver of rain jabs
and the pain in my joints
an extra limb that I must carry
like a cross. No more slapping

of wet hair between braided towel
the scent of lavender fading
from old woolens shaken from disuse

no more scent of tomatoes
ripening in the sun,
soil loosened to receive
new seeds. No more

of all that now, for suddenly
a lopsided carol announces Christmas
and plastic trees stand, proud

sentinels of the season,
when I only ventured out
to buy lip balm
* * * * *

"New Winter" was first published in Crannóg, Ireland.

Shikhandin is the nom de plume of an award-winning Indian writer, who writes for both adults and children. Books include among others, Immoderate Men: Stories published by Speaking Tiger, India and Vibhuti Cat an illustrated book for children, published by Duckbill. For more on Shikhandin you can visit her Amazon page: and her Facebook page:

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