The Sweetness of Bitter Lemon



Winter; from the North, from the East.

Chill frigid frozen wastes of weather.

The weight of a season’s death hangs

over our shoulders, in our hair, on our breath

breathing out, breathing in

our own death-like state of being

of burning heat with a touch like ice

with temperature raised

from a deep glacier’s heart

and rivers running south

and the pounding, pounding

of incessant drums of a fell foe

besieging your beautiful fortress

with cloaking, choking vines of aching agony.

O, for the sweetness of bitter lemon

mixed in dripping honey from a sturdy spoon

in the heady steam of solace

and the dream, delirious dream, of spring.



Malek Montag,

Rochester, 2017


Picture Credit:



About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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