Holly, a poem by Abhinav Aradhi

 

Holly

Where, dear sky,

Are your snowfall tears?

Your lack of misery

Has in turn made us miserable.

 

Where, dear earth,

Are your antiviral agents?

Your lack of hygiene

Has in turn made us ill.

 

Here we lie,

Our bodies choked up,

In the stifling sense

Of a hearth.

 

We may have each other,

But how much of each other,

Is miserably, achingly,

Too much?

 

We may have the presents,

Laid beneath a glimmering tree,

But they hold no ground,

For we lack company.

 

Inane activities,

Trying to amuse us.

When you’ve stripped all our fun,

Away with the time.

 

What constitutes a holiday?

Is it a breath of fresh air,

From the constant drivel,

Of those surrounding us?

 

Or is it the giddy feeling,

That accompanies plans made

Days in advance,

To go watch a movie?

 

A holiday is more than

Hastily made cookies,

And ordered food.

It’s all about freedom.

 

I, for one, have not felt this freedom,

For I have been strangled by yuletide.