M Minakshi Devi
I scribble down my diary,of the imminent Autumn,
Hill-tops glittering bright under the sun at noon
And armed trees frisk with wimpy wind ,dropping dead browns by dusk,
Down the paths that the lampposts light.
With masses locked indoors,in times of Corona,a pretty solitary life crawls.
My window quite an empty spot,since I sit thereby alone,
I miss my bosom pal's laugh and sipping brews with her
Round the clock longing to summon her for Autum's special pies and tarts.
But,I watch the fall ,catching up our lives much brisk alone.
Feels like a season's funeral,of the rain and its petrichor.
An ecstasy of August weather,balmy and hovering in the still air
Drawn leaves,dead grass,maple trees and some ravaged flowers.
I am quite unsure,how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?
Who knew an autum twenty twenty,would go unsung?
Or shall we think it as unforseen?