New reply from Susan Katz
<p>Taking a break, on a rainy/snowy Monday, and decided to check in with my website. I found your very beautifully written poem waiting for me. Your poem "strolls" through a series of intimate observations of self, of others, and of life in the process of being lived. You have some strong and meaningful lines and they lead us through your, poet's eye, appraisal of what you see – more importantly, what you feel. If I may, I would like to suggest a couple of small things… "smokes" should be smoke – not plural – / don't know if you need "as we call it" as we know that because it is what you called it – / – "late night" should be "nights" because you have indicated by using "yesterday's" that there is more than one night – / ";the city air is bristled with greyish dreams" is great! "Greyish" should be spelled with an "a". This crowd only dares to whisper" is also a great line. "The sparrows are in search of food" don't need the "the." "Cold breeze and chirpings "cut" not "cuts" the silence." Perhaps "you name necessity" rather than "calls."</p>
<p>I am really impressed with this poem. It shows me that you have the eye and the heart of a poet. I would be happy to feature your poem, next week, in the Featured Poem of the Week section on my website. I would be pleased if you would consider some of the suggestions I made – please let me know – but, either way, I would feature it, with your permission. Your friend in poetry, Susan</p>
https://poetladykatz.com/poetry-talk/the-winter-crowd
Original Post by Divyangana Bhadra
The winter crowd
<p>It's again a busy day,</p>
<p>monday blues as we call it.</p>
<p>He fixed the tie only to feel a hindrance around his neck.</p>
<p>People with slouched shoulders, wrinkled foreheads</p>
<p>eyes on the logos of engagement.</p>
<p>The bitter sweet rays of the winter sun</p>
<p>illuminated her tired face.</p>
<p>Made her eyelids heavy,</p>
<p>From all of yesterday's late night-</p>
<p><em>The deadline madness.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Running in circles, people with geometric faces,</p>
<p>pied piper of life</p>
<p><em>endless rat-race</em>.</p>
<p>Fast paced cars blowing off smokes</p>
<p>the city air is bristled with greyish dreams,</p>
<p><em>choked voices. </em></p>
<p>Heaviness of dirt settled on the</p>
<p>facet of leaves, the green-numbing cold</p>
<p><em>disrupted photosynthesis. </em></p>
<p>Of love, longing and hope</p>
<p>this crowd only dares to whisper.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A pause, a detour against the flow</p>
<p>brought me to this wonderland.</p>
<p>Flesh and bones – like an alchemist's art mingled into one</p>
<p>the night before, might be a lovers spat.</p>
<p>The sparrows are in the search of food,</p>
<p>cold breeze and chirpings cuts the silence</p>
<p><em>erratic rythymns</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The joggers are on a routine journey</p>
<p>swaying to the forbidden tune.</p>
<p>The morning market is quite a scene</p>
<p>You call necessity, I see an artist's palette.</p>
<p>By winter's boon</p>
<p>the canvas is bountiful.</p>
<p>Jaggery – the sweet crumbles, it feels like a mother's touch.</p>
<p>I made small earthen pots of these,</p>
<p>when I open the lids</p>
<p>this crowd penetrates and lingers in</p>
<p>my soul,</p>
<p>Even after I shed off the skin of</p>
<p><em>the parched being.</em></p>
<p> </p>