The maples, blaze, beyond the rest
In the, fiery fief, of wilderness
Why yearns, a heart, in every breast
That traverses, this love’s, largess!
Had it been, ever, resplendent green
How would, we know, passion of fall
That pain, ain’t pain, which is, not seen
In the finesse, of heart’s, fond recall!
Why bathes, in gore, the pilgrim’s heart
Baptized, as though, in blood, of love
In moorland’s lap, lay, ripped apart
The soul, of a straying, lovelorn dove!
Lost in, this, endless inferno
I find, my peace, in tumult’s thrall
Am I, the joy, of the pain, I sow
As I Pass By The Fury Of Fall!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra