In the hush of winter’s embrace,
A tapestry of tales, a lyrical grace.
As frosty tendrils gently conspire,
Thoughts awaken, a dormant fire.
In the theater of icy disdain,
A symphony of shivers, a wintry refrain.
Tyrannical claw on public throat, unkind,
Thus, a call for freedom echoes in their mind.
The crime, unveiled in snow’s disguise,
Treacherous highways, under cold skies.
Nature’s canvas painted with fear,
Skidding on dreams, whispers we hold dear.
But let’s pivot, turn our gaze,
To those without privilege’s blaze.
The elite dance through crises untamed,
Yet the poor wither, their struggles unnamed.
In winter’s cold, see where leaders stand,
No epiphany for our suffering motherland.
Arms remain aloft, oblivious tunes,
No pulse for people, just silent dunes.
Muddy roads, potholes deep,
Life’s journey, a paycheck to cheat.
A dance with survival, an unscripted play,
Yearning for warmth in the heart’s dismay.
Yet, ponder this wintry scene,
Is it worth it, this silent scream?
The cold, a relentless, biting chill,
A narrative we’re reluctant to fulfill.
As pockets empty, no money to hold,
Economic crisis pinches, another tale unfolds.
For the neglected public, life hits hard,
Winter’s crime deepens, a harsh regard.
When will winter’s tapestry begin to fray?
When will this frozen grasp give way?
Releasing us from this icy clasp of yore,
Bringing an awakened era, warmth at the core.
Thoughtmonger 