Looking Up to Autumn

O! Serried Spring.
Be not proud. Vanish!
You are the eye of attention…
But, not for me.
Boast not of splendid colours!

Your expansive, covetous gaze
Will not hold on.
Where is your permanence?
Have you not seen the impaled look
On the budding roses,
Or in the wilt of daffodils?
Why are you out of touch with reality?

Your beauteous face is marred
By your impatient thoughts...
Your heady starts are too reckless –
A mere façade –
A Faux Pas!

The bees that lambent...
The birds that sing... do not lambent or sing –
Because of you!
They follow an orderly, faultless pattern.
Even the late bloomer has a reason
To be late in blooming!

A sweetheart’s laughter,
Or love’s laconic impassivity...
They are not from:
Your collection of play,
But, from: A throb!

O! Serpent Spring...
Your hysteria chains you to superior thoughts.
Ungoverned, you claim to be at par with Heaven!
Be not proud,
Know, the disparity of other seasons,
Stages its own unique beauty.
Draw aside your view of false pride.

Look at your other sibling...
Look! At the august Autumn.
How well this season carries its wizened look!
Unlike you, the Fall is free – not in any bondage
Of desire to rein.

O! Spring I look up to Autumn,
And learn my lessons best from its calm.
To the evergreen memory of such time:
A singular Autumn tree gives enough joy to me…
The way it shines in the rustic hues.
Hope is mine in Autumn.
Hope is mine in Autumn!

Geeta Chhabra

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