/// <br /> <br />Somber wind flows through a slow September evening <br />it comes as the drifted clouds on poet's old window <br />where there is a sigh on a little sky is being <br />It has grown melancholic ashes on the twilight shadow <br /> <br />Where wind is not too fast <br />as if it's free from fine dust but melts with a little gust <br />again it's whispering the dreamy last sweet summer <br />and at the late evening wind has blown through the murmur <br /> <br />One day the liquid words were coming from the heart <br />and its glitter's glee gifted the poet a poetic art <br />where it grew the purple plants on the land too dart, <br />then it bloomed too many dreams of bud <br /> <br />When the compact words are trying to sing <br />as the jingling on the poet's dry lips <br />where the poet is writing an ode that have a pair of wing <br />but metaphors have metamorphosed as the crystal chips <br /> <br />Creating too many bubbles of pain <br />those are floating on the flow of stream <br />the poetic rhythm is twisting with the September rain <br />and on the air that has turned to be a rapid steam <br /> <br />/// <br /> <br /> <br />Copyrighted by <br />@Musfiq us shaleheen <br />Dhaka, Sept,2014<br /><br />Musfiq us shaleheen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/september-rain-5/
