Mist falling ahead of the fire that of autumn
Measured in celsius, minus now in one pole of the heart
Flowers, dreams, seasons all frozen at that point
Miraculously not lost life but renounced a vacuum.
Half sized the seizure, midway the path ended
Near the coast of an Ocean, noon burns
Breaks a pearl sized earth
From there to the city of gardens
Night all in fireworks to welcome a sleepy day
Not as frozen in twenty scant degrees
There not much uproar as expected
Hiding behind the curtains of winter
The still outgrown child of the dawn walks in
To lighten the chandeliers of a bay
Who plays the drum and the bongos?
For a frozen plateau with a song that of the east
Forecast of the mind so perfect that silenced
All challenges of an Almanac
Mist there on the surface and deep down
Reflects a light that of the innermost divine soul
Earth in its mantle hides sorrows of all centuries
And walks with an insouciant charm
Incredible!
By Rema Pisharody