September Rain

Somber wind flows through
A slow September evening
it comes as the drifted
Clouds on poet's old window
Where there is a sigh
On a little sky is being
It has grown melancholic
Ashes on the twilight shadow

Where wind is not too fast
As if it's free from fine dust
But melts with a little gust
Again it's whispering
The dreamy last sweet summer
And at the late evening wind
Has blown through the murmur

One day the liquid words were
Coming from the heart
And its glitter's glee
Gifted the poet a poetic art
Where it grew the purple plants
On the land too dart,
Then it bloomed too many
Dreams of bud

When the compact words
Are trying to sing
As the jingling
On the poet's dry lips
Where the poet is writing an ode
That have a pair of wing
Metaphors have metamorphosed
As the crystal chips

Creating too many
Bubbles of pain
Those are floating
On the flow of stream
The poetic rhythm is twisting
With the September rain
And on the air that has turned
To be a rapid steam


Copyrighted by
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Dhaka, Sept,2014

by Musfiq us shaleheen

Comments (1)

Very thought provoking indeed.