In  tropical, moody Kolkata,
Autumn doesn't arrive
In a flurry of red leaves
Strewn to the winds
It arrives silently,
With hushed whispers
of wind into our ears
Slowly, the fallen leaves
Turn yellow
The warm, balmy breeze
Develops a bite to it
Secretly, some trees shed
Their clothes completely
In preparation for the chilled
Caresses of Winter
Mittens and monkey caps
Appear amongst the morning
Walkers and newspaper boys
The sun becomes lazy, reminiscent
in it's behavior, rising later and later
Each day, until 6 o'clock is a stretch
of Imagination
Autumn comes with muted footsteps
Hardly any time to appreciate it
Before it's gone and Winter sets in