Ablaze are trails, with the summer’s blood
Still wild abloom, forget-me-nots
The sin of senescence, which slept in every bud
Lay bare to the bone, in sublime rots!
Call it psalm of bliss – ‘Sweet September’
Where life defies, death’s transience
On a putrid patch, insolent aster
Sings the timeless tales, of diffidence!
Why the wasteland, yearns for this earned bloodbath
Ain’t it ever content, with the verdant rhapsody?
Why it hugs to death, sun’s ruthless wrath
To be drenched in the relics, of life’s debris!
The ingrained sin, in the nature’s law
Poises spring’s bliss, with autumn’s toll
“Yet divine is the bliss, of this perfect flaw”
Hum in mystic awe, Rustles Of The Fall!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra