Autumn's Dejection Poem by Nithin Pradeep

I am the Autumn.
Falling  uneasily on the face of this earth.
Yet, expelling frustration in my own style
Even without tears, for I know not what are tears
 
A bloody garland made of  flowers,
Spring’s gift for the mankind,
put over me by the boy next door.
As I watch the sap drain out of the gasping flowers,
I pity the boy.
but I know not the mortal’s language; I know not sadism.
 
At the knock of September, people welcome me,
And tag me as the destroyer of the angelic spring.
 
‘Meloncholic mood! '
The old wretch of a poet calls it.
 He knows not; this is divine intervention

 
Only men may survive my activities
For they understand not what I speak
 
I paint the tainted leaves red
Not to conceal my chronic sins
Or seek salvation;
I know my presence makes the sky go grey,
I know I make you one step closer to the lazy winter
and wipe away the fond memories of those fruitful days
with the stroke of a dusty breeze
Till I depart,
till I complete my duty,
Wait.. And bear me..