As it snows

 The hands go numb and thoughts seem to freeze.

The unrelenting silence of the falling flakes, broken only by an occasional error,

Envelops the whole wide world and then everything that is on it.

I lay covered in a number of layers and yet the hands feels like they will tear, 

There is beauty in this heaven but heaven is tough by choice, isn't it dear.

The flakes seem to shift shape and turn the wind as per their call,

The distant roaring Ganga seems to add to the muted bell's toll.

I took off my glove to write this piece and seem to instantly regret my choice,

But I promise myself an immediate escape to the depths of the blankets below,

Where I promise, neither will a squeak come put nor will any noise. 

As the snow settles in, I can see only white ahead,

Whites on whites, whites on shades, white everywhere.

The invisible sound of this white all around lulls me into a beautiful sleep.