I am the Autumn. <br />Falling uneasily on the face of this earth. <br />Yet, expelling frustration in my own style <br />Even without tears, for I know not what are tears <br /> <br />A bloody garland made of flowers, <br />Spring’s gift for the mankind, <br />put over me by the boy next door. <br />As I watch the sap drain out of the gasping flowers, <br />I pity the boy. <br />but I know not the mortal’s language; I know not sadism. <br /> <br />At the knock of September, people welcome me, <br />And tag me as the destroyer of the angelic spring. <br /> <br />‘Meloncholic mood! ' <br />The old wretch of a poet calls it. <br /> He knows not; this is divine intervention <br /> <br /> <br />Only men may survive my activities <br />For they understand not what I speak <br /> <br />I paint the tainted leaves red <br />Not to conceal my chronic sins <br />Or seek salvation; <br />I know my presence makes the sky go grey, <br />I know I make you one step closer to the lazy winter <br />and wipe away the fond memories of those fruitful days <br />with the stroke of a dusty breeze <br />Till I depart, <br />till I complete my duty, <br />Wait.. And bear me..<br /><br />Nithin Pradeep<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-s-dejection/
