Salt And Ink

Autumn

Autumn.

Cold and glum, a tad lonesome.

And life is frozen in its path

The colorless days, the scorching dark

And nothing comes close to the storm in my mind

Nowhere a cure for the rage do I find.

Sticking a smile on my plastic face

I stoop to the ground and tie my shoelace

And wish my problems I could as easily untie

A gang of clouds smothers the Sun in the sky

The heart yells out, the tongue keeps mum-

Autumn.

The grey of the road is seldom beheld

An army of leaves falls under your tread

And the trees shy away, naked and  demure

Their leafless frames devoid of all allure.

My footfalls echo with a sickening crunch

As I step on an unusually massive bunch

Of the dead and the shed, the leaves lush green

That now form a part of the desolate scene.

A flower gone dry, a shrivelled up plum-

Autumn.

Swaying in the wind, mocking the passer-by

The branches let out a desperate sigh

Fuelling their desire to caress my hair

My overcoat a foil to their bodies bare.

And the buildings that once were zealous and bright 

Are now hanging onto the last shred of life

Succumbing to the ceaseless ticking of the clock

An invincible wheel that refuses to stop.

The trees are lucky to shed the old and the dead

The leaves are lucky to know when they're not needed

The road is lucky to have a voluminous mask

The buildings are lucky to the seasons last.

The clouds cast a horrible spell on the town

That dumbs the cuckoo in its flight homebound

And the deafening silence the season contains

Is a perfect metaphor for the noise in my brain.

And the usual balminess in the air is gone

And what surrounds me is a queer old  morn

That crosses a monsoon with a winter and a fall

An unscrupulous slut that embraces them all.

A biting breeze turns my fingers numb-

I stare, eyes dilated, at my moon-white thumbs,

My feet turn to lead and refuse to run

I shift my gaze at the sickening Sun

And with all my life, long for the seasons to turn-

Autumn.