dear september,
tell me, “you’ll be fine”
tell me, “you won’t bleed”
tell me, “your eyes won’t rain”
tell me, “your wounds will heal”
tell me, “you won’t be sad”
tell me, “this month won’t be same”
tell me, “it’s the happiest you’ll be”
tell me, “someone will love you”
tell me, “words won’t be shot at me”
tell me, “memories won’t haunt you”
tell me, “this time will be different”
tell me, “you will make memories”
tell me, “you won’t be deserted”
tell me, “ you won’t be depressed”
tell me, “you’ll be at peace and free”

life has been a blur
existential september
chaos, come hither

ready to drown in the blues
that come with fall hues
because sadness is my muse

fearless in my doom
ready to thrive in my gloom
writing in my room

You are my late September,  
When spring has long been forgotten  
With its newness, lush green and raindrops.  
The rambunctious giddy splendor of sweaty palms  
And arterial palpitations.  

You are not summer, hot and dripping,  
Air thick, smothering with inescapable heat,  
Panting breaths and desperate lips.  
Perhaps once or twice as we revolved around each other,  
If night airs could tell tales.  

You are not winter,  
Though we have shared Decembers.  
There is no place for you in my snow tipped trellises.  
No coordinate in my circumference that would hold you in ice,  
Frozen and forgotten under rippled white blankets,  
Though perhaps, under wrinkled white sheets.  

You are not fall,  
When autumn turns the ground dirt and dull.  
Trees shedding their raiments  
And reaching naked for the sky.  
Surrendering to the inevitability of winter’s approach,  
Drawing sap down to their rootwork,  
Waiting for another spring  

You are my late September,  
The earth still warm between my toes  
With the remembrance of summer suns.  
More vibrant than spring, and wiser than summer.  
Leaves full of tree-song  
Brilliant gold and fire,  
Blood orange and melancholy yellows,  
Blazing in defiant glory.

cool morning
     garbage truck sings
to a steel wool sky

September rain  
falling grey on Monday faces
washes out the dusty traces
of August in the air,
coffee mug memories
warm and serene,
muse on the summer it might have been

18th August
-Before the autumn arrives

Fourteen more sunsets to witness
Fourteen more endings to caress
I'll watch sturgeon for the last time
Gonna get 'ma-aslama' from August very soon
'Fall' will be evoked for what the September strives
Gonna have an eye-catch since it's a 'corn moon'
Summer will kiss you for the last time
Before the Autumn arrives!

Have to suffer a few more starks
Season leaving autumnal marks
My cozy lights ambering my darks...
Final Equinox in the doorway is driving
These elm splinters are substantiating
That the autumn is arriving!!

My darkened panes
reminiscing autumn rains
Rains on the crisp dead leaves
Triggering seasonal pains
'Ash' will perform his last ballet
Before he dives;
'Walnuts' will play their nonchalant rhythms
Before he arrives!!!

Leaves and the branches parting ways
Trees bearing insane death
Four are over already in these verses
Now the days are ten left! ~vairagya

july reaching's still to august,
whose days in general be more modest,
and september blowths the future cool,
june's present's past's hot-headed fool.