Memories

The late summer whispers the arrival song of September
that left the city of August. Flowers that borrowed colors
from the Sun are fading to prepare for the fall.
Ask the wind to narrate the history of September,
it will shed tears of doomed humankind.
The days, ground drenched in tears and bloodied carcass.
I was born on the day September paused
the obliquitous poem at the twelfth line
blessing a journey of life riding crests and troughs
One fine day, maybe not so fine
I knocked the door of poetry,
as my ramshackle soul hold me tight
in harrowing quilts. It embraced me,
the poor vagrant building a safe hidden haven.

The hidden home now is vulnerable to the storms
that are coming unheralded I need to walk out
a bit to strengthen the wall of this poetic Elysium,
dear to my heart
I am not gone until the prints of my poetry
will continue to tell tales I painted
On one one day,
clearing the misty fog in
voyage of hope I shall
return to this cherished abode.

-Khushi Kaul