To Autumn Poem by Ibohal Kshetrimayum

All appear denuded
When you set in:
Forests, hills, rivers, winds and
The nymphs.

Even the angels look disrobed, and
Seem lying spread-eagled on barren clouds,
Sans their birthrights:
The luminous crowns.
The earth too looks dry and abandoned.

On one of your bare branches,
My poetry perches, reminiscing
Spring days, in a mirage of
Dewy images cringed by summer heat, and
Under your pale sun
My shakespearean forehead
Reflects thawing metaphors, in anticipation of
Winter verses, surprising the muse
With make-believe shivering, occasionally,
With no malice to your grey indifference.