December Star

Solstice darkness persists longer
than sun’s extended rays, which
reach my fingertips eight minutes
later than when they first sizzled
out of their thermogenic home.

Electromagnetic radiation warms
cool blue earth, invisibly envelops
my skin. In the chill of Cimmerian
nights, a tender light pierces
the pining, crepuscular hour.

Underneath December’s star,
silence stirs the night, souls
progress, transgress; recollect
perpetual anticipation, the deep
agony of waiting in darkness.

Hungry and thirsty bones sing
a tale of lament; an aching song
stretches through long days
of winter, across the cosmos,
yearning for morning light.

The heat of anticipated star
flickers, ignites a mortal desire,
spangling streaks in the caliginous
expanse. The spirit is a smoldering
wick; the heart floods with hope.

Witness the world’s pain cauterized
by a birth; death incinerated
by a small heavenly body gifted
to creation. Permit the heat of the star
to embrace you; now watch the fires burn.

***

Image Credit: Angeleses for Pixabay

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Prasanta Verma

Writer at Prasanta Verma

Prasanta Verma was born under an Asian sun, raised in the Appalachian foothills, and currently resides in the upper Midwest. She writes essays and poetry about loneliness, cultural identity, belonging, culture, and race. She has a forthcoming book about ethnic loneliness in 2024, and you can connect with her on Twitter, Instagram, and sign up for her free newsletter on Substack https://prasantaverma.substack.com/.

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