the snow flakes tumble clumsily towards the ground –
like dust particles that have been unsettled by a kucho on a sunny morning.
like the ash that drifts away slowly from bajai’s chulo in taji.
like the husks that separate from the rice grains when you toss the nanglo.
my friend says that it looks like ‘real’ snow this time –
and not the other kind, which is a signature of this place.
the harsh icy things that look like snowflakes but drizzle down on you like rain drops, and melt away at touchdown.


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