Cold is the absolute truth (as is the Absolute Zero, as a matter of fact!). Beautiful. I love winters and all most things cold, even an occasional frigid gaze from a lovely someone. Right. Now, without any further digression… the Title is a very famous poem from Robert Frost and remains the most loved piece of poetry I have come across. Incidentally, it is one of the first compositions that I could understand well without the usual profound thinking required for their comprehension (discounting the nursery rhymes ofcourse!). The meaning came easy, almost naturally. And I am not sure even now, whether it is the ‘Frost’ in his name or the setting of  the narrative, probably both, but the poem brings in me the same sense as Winter. Simple, solitary, lovely and calm.

The beauty lies in the winter chill: its frigid reality that turns even something as inconspicuous as breath into a tangible haze. It is in the sparkling snowfields that transform the harsh reality surrounding us into a surreal, pure white out of some children’s fairy tale; every snow-flake that descends from the heaven – so unsure whether to fall or to keep flight, before finally alighting upon the earth ever so softly, almost a whisper – infinitely more beautiful in its crystallized bizarreness. It is the loveliness of the cold morning dew unsullied yet by the pale winter sun. Beauty lies bounded in ice – ethereal – pristine and harsh. Smooth, transparent exteriors belying a concealed heart; pretending to bare all and yet reflecting away every gaze. Scattering away the occasional audacious ray that pierces through – a desperate attempt to reveal its essence – into an explosion of radiance.

Cold is the frosty breath that sweeps amidst the winter trees – devoid of foliage and pretensions, and freezing are the depths of the vast ocean, dark and mysterious…. Nature so beautiful in a perverted way! Lovely winter nights… a chill that permeates the very soul, leaving one bare and yet hiding them in their folds of fog simultaneously. Cold – it manifests itself  in the far reaches of space and even beyond in the dark voids, where none exist and all else vanish.

Life is warmth; cold is the Death. Terrible in all its glory; its very finality – beautiful yet merciless. Warm is my heart that beats within, yearning forever for the cold pervading outside… a lone fire in the glacial winter mist, inherently conflicting with the other, yet thankful of the latter’s icy presence …the very reason of its being.