• ishitasingh 20w

    I saw it,
    The white flower tree blooming this very morning,
    In my grandmother's old garden's courtyard,
    The devil's tree, they call it,
    I find it as angelic as an infant's sweet laughter,
    With a bouquet of pearls wrapped in green silks!

    I carried it's fragrance with me,
    To my chambers,
    Agnising that it'll play with my minds,
    Like fall of every year,
    But I fancy this subtle succumbence of mine,
    More than anything else at this very moment!

    And fall is here again,
    With it's scarlet shenanigans,
    And yearful of tales of moony lovebirds,
    But I shall not ink down songs for the lovers,
    'Cause my lover is the Autumn,
    Who sings with the crimson leaves,
    rustling with the salty winds!

    And the lovelorn days can't resist,
    It's tryst with the bleak nights,
    The birds sing for them, for their heartsick romance,
    The trees shed their golden tears, the leaves which fall and die,
    And the cold breeze rises and sinks,
    To jaunt to the faraway seas, where shadows and sunrays reside!

    ©ishitasingh