When the Year Turns

The year leans back, tired from its long journey—
a little scuffed at the edges, a little wiser,
carrying our stories in its pockets:
the ones we shared proudly,
and the ones we tucked away like folded notes.

December glows softly around it,
a lantern in the cold,
and we gather close to remember
how far we’ve walked,
how many times we stumbled and still rose again.

There were days that felt heavy as winter skies,
and others that opened like windows
letting the sun rush in.
Both have shaped us—
both have stayed.

And now, almost shyly,
a new year waits at the doorstep,
barefoot, bright-eyed,
not asking for perfection—
only a chance.

It brings no guarantees,
no map drawn neatly in advance,
just an open hand,
an invitation to begin again
with whatever courage we can carry.

So let the old year rest.
Let the new one in.
And may we step forward gently—
hope like a quiet ember in our palms,
ready to glow if we protect it,
ready to burn bright if we let it.

                                                    - Sangeeta