At the end of the waterfall of dying lights from the celestial fireball,
lights which are splattered onto a canvas of air and cotton,
lie millennium-old peaks and precipices, frost-capped.
The waterfall transforms into shards of ice. The pale light of a celestial mirror,
plays hide and seek with the sleeping precipices,
which are crowned with the antlers of naked trees.
The ball of mirrors sets alight the citadel of darkness,
the sky is riddled with infinite sand-grain sized lanterns,
the fireball dims out, behind the imposing peaks,
winter's arms slowly creep over, freezes the elated mind.
Time's road is trampled over by the white marble of mirrors,
the air, consists of ice and also bears the elixir of new life.
The giants, carpeted with dry, bushy forests, eternally blanketed by snow,
cast shadows, like clouds do on cities, on the hamlets of the valleys.
Clouds shower the giants with occasional mists
lights and time go on playing an unceasing game of hide and seek
the rustle and crackle of the trees along with the carol of the fallen leaves is short lived.
Silence slithers in, pounces and usurps the kingdom of time,
the lanterns halt their twinkle, ears go numb inside the chasm,
all goes still, save for the whispers of the playful wind.
Aryan Shafat studies in grade nine of Scholastica School, Dhaka.