Thursday, August 22, 2013

She has her own story, like rains and the spring...

You know that, do you not?
That Autumn has her own story,
Like winter, spring, monsoon,
Memento mori*...

You know that,
Do you not?
Autumn once a story
On me wrote,
Like catching advertisement datelines...
Like catching young all older songs, eldest of times...
Like coining a catchy phrase
Standing infront of a tree draped golden like a mirthful haze...
Like taking in the aroma of a hookah bar,
Like riding pillion on a friend's bike, who came from far,
Like savouring chocolate tarts spread on creamy layer,
Like taking photo of a rickshaw puller sleeping  easy,
Like finding a flower growing blooming against a grey wall like a daisy,
Like finding art as month long fruit of blood and sweat,
Like catching the snappy, jazzy, pantalooned one suddenly as a poet,
Like blowing watery soapy bubbles filling the air,
Like getting a smell of a perfumed brown hair,

Autumn has her own story,
Like winter, spring, monsoon,
Memento mori...

(Note: this one is a collage of photographs taken by me...really!
*Memento mori=remember that you will die,)

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