January

January is our two-faced Janus
Who is rocking back and forth.
There is no snow’s finger here,
A  fox dragging wounded belly
As January poet would have it.

But seeds of blood are planted
In  the white Himalayan snow.
Wily foxes ,not with the vixen,
Are dragging wounded bellies
From red explosions on snows.

We ask two-faced Janus to tell
If red deaths show up in snow
With a green nowhere in sight
If  Kalashnikovs  bloom again
Their flowers on a white snow.

(reading a poem titled January by R.S.Thomas)

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