Autumn approaches. Have you heard the wind hastening the withered roots ––like the witchcraft—the invisible hand touches the green field, the blossoms-- with a puff from the mouth of Almighty—right then, the summer was carried away by a shadow—the magic rhythm of nature---
Silence envelopes the season—noise blinds me---
Autumn is the ripe season for fruits and for me to read—at this moment—but my fickle mood messes with my appetite for reading—the nameless anxiety for self and self-esteem joggles me—I feel like I need an urge to pull myself together—to consolidate a belief in the future—Yet my sight yearns for the present sense of pride and accomplishment—thus, I can’t shrug the dust and fabrics of temptation away and move on—I am too lost in my labyrinth of desire---
Do the thoughts that bind me blind the eye of my mind????
I wish I were the carefree soul, chanting: “SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness—”
I promised I shall create something—something I don’t know yet—but it’s a perpetual struggle---
“If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.”
Were you? Would you? Could you?