It is that time of the year,
When the rustling of leaves we hear
And as the orange-red leaves fall,
A tale untold I recall.
Every autumn, my father and I,
Would play in heaps of leaves so high.
We would stand by the lake,
Gazing at all the beauty we could take.
Next year, he decided to stay home,
So I brought autumn to our humble dome.
As on the soft white bed he lay,
I placed those beauteous leaves at bay.
A few more autumns passed,
And to the last few years in contrast,
My father sat on a berth in a city afar,
Looking out the window at the innumerable stars.
And I sat in our little hometown,
On a wooden bench looking around,
That year the tree shed its leaves the most,
And tears stained my cheeks as I sat at my post.
Somehow we both knew when
And we closed our eyes then,
He could see the golden-orange with a hint of red,
I could see the blue-black with sparkling studs instead.
We saw one another too,
For the last time we knew,
He hoped that I will soon be at ease,
And I hoped that he truly finds peace.
Ten years have now gone by,
And every time that I close my eyes,
I am taken back to our autumn,
When I was a little girl and he and I were one.
Author: VR Kapse
Editor: Nandini Patil