the spread of white
like the flowing flat spotless white gown of an ice-maiden
the smoky white cover
like the layers of smoke emitting from thousands of chimneys
the eerie white stretch
like the eeriness of a black night turned dark white
the sorrrowful serene white
like a widow’s saree, covering her sorrow helplessly
the whispers of a white silence
like the noise of screams, unheard, emitting from the unuttered

from the middle of the white
arose a half-awake sun
trying not so hard to remove the white blankets
trying to stay in the coziness of the white
trying not to shun
for today, it’s gonna leave its job half-done


If you think this poem deserves a title, then suggest one.