Moumita Alam
2
My Autumn is Lost
The sense of coming winter
the white clouds roaming happily
on the blue sky
the catkins coming as apostles
of happiness and excitement
the smell of the new dress that my mother
bought for me with her year long savings
the planning for six days of
joys and drum beats
were my Autumn once.
I have been robbed of that
Autumn.
Now I am my name only
the curious eyes follow me
in the pandals
my Melas are not mine anymore
I am now odd in wishing
Vijaya to my elders
the sweets of dashami don’t reach
my table anymore.
The young children of my name
don’t glean the newly harvested
paddies from the field to gather money for
the six days unions
of love and innocent joy.
my autumn has been robbed away
my Durga is not mine anymore
the mullahs have delivered sermon
autumn is not autumn anymore
My Autumn is now harbinger
of cold dead winter.
*
పెద్దన్న
రచన శృంగవరపు
విజయ నాదెళ్ళ
ఎలనాగ
అఫ్సర్
సొలోమోన్ విజయ్
చందు తులసి
A moving poem which subtly conveys a deep sense of loss and isolation. Where is that feeling of belonging? Keep writing. Good luck