Autumn Mosiac

Somewhere in those empyrean halls,
An antique cerulean clock strikes ten,
And down here, on these ephemeral
Vales of the sins and virtues of men,
The turquoise skies blissfully elope
With all shades of the summer mirth,
And celebrate from afar, a tulip's grin 
When her spirit gives her a wide berth.

The winds and all their winsome eddies,
Swim the panorama in salient ebullience
And rob the dainty dahlias and peonies
Of their bouquets of tempting essence.
The scarlet rose and her crew of delicious
Summer-tide blossoms tepidly fade away,
While their mesmeric memories linger
Into some wistful caskets of the yesterday.

And just as these oil-paintings of summer
Drift away to a parallel cosmos of elisions,
For three blessed, yet placid seasons and
Feast on the syrah of siestas and illusions;
A spell of invincible mellowness seamlessly
Cascade down in myriads of reddish amber,
A maple slips a leaf, unfurling an autumn
Clad in robes of a tangerine tinted October.

The earth is blessed with a clement sun
Together with smidgens of juvenile cold
And the fields, feed and watered by the
Crisp mustard sunshine, autumn holds,
Rave about their love for the fine fall
To a buoyant bevy of linnets capering by.
A finch waltzing with a passing zephyr
Sings to the starling gleaming up high.

The songs of the gladness of autumn
Those of a jubilant harvest and life,
Of the aromas of pumpkin and peach
And the plums and pears, who are rife,
Chime their way through the passels
Of smiles and laughs of rejoicing men.
But soon dusk breathes a winter blue
And a fallen lark hears a clock strike eleven.

Alas!

Yet another autumn kisses an oblivion!

               

  ~ Barenya Nayak