Sadness Creeps In Like A Hurricane In The Twilight Of September Poem by Seiji Lushai

Another September is coming to an end
but my borrowed-books will not be back—

the mesmerizing midnights' children,
signed with love and care: my name,
forever to be gone with the that damsel,
with her haughtiness and reticence
along with that sometimes frivolously frolic face
that once seduced my eyes,

two priceless sold-out vernacular books,
by the acclaimed 'writer of the century' whose books are every bibliophiles' desire,
now gone with their mellow brown bindings in the hands of
an oriental looking novice-conjurer who
beseeched me in an almost genuflection-like to charmingly steal them,

another, of Camus whose oeuvre I have almost procured,
now in the repository of a decorous dude
that has the proclivity for humor and affinity,
I never thought that he wouldn't keep
his word,

them priceless paperbacks vanished,
never to be found in my bookshelf again.

After a week-long war between the sun and the rain,
the pluvious yet soporifically sultry weather finally halts
a brisk smell of autumn creeps in my atmosphere,

I stroll down the boulevards
just to breathe the benign air;
I feel like a stranger amidst the teeming crowd,

at one corner a man sits: selling puffed rice;
I see him covering it with a paper
he has tore down from a book;
sadness creeps into my heart like a hurricane
when I see the man tearing down the
pages of the book without any sympathy,
that could have been a wonderful,
fascinating story.