I walk in the shadows,
while the sun still shines,
under rainless clouds of white and grey,
in bluish-orange skies.

Golden-brown leaves,
like souls lay asunder,
I step on them and walk along,
while they crack as I wander.

Their crisp crackling sound,
lifts with autumn’s scent,
they lift my monsoon blues,
and fill me with content.

And the wind blowing swiftly,
rakes up these leaves,
unaltered in its celerity,
while it plows through these trees.

And the whoosh of cold-dry air,
ruffles though my hair,
calms me down and draws me out,
from my dank-dingy lair.

On the open autumn roads;
In the dense autumn sounds;
At the end of monsoon turmoil;
I lay six feet-
-underground.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar