Sun's Autumn Homecoming! Poem by Seema joglekar

Autumn’s meek sun returns, like a bird given away in spring,
Without her pomp and festivity, only the burden she brings
A brief spell, a light echo of spring, a little of that mischief and mirth,
She arrives for the first time to the dwelling of her birth.

Wiping away mists that cloud those memories of bygone days,
Unlike those warm tears, spring showers, when parting with the bride,
The jingle of her bridal jewels, bird’s songs in their caress,
All left behind in the casket with her coquettishness.

Garrulous streams, she bathed in, floated jewels meant to burn,
Now a mere trickle sends cold showers, to allay that thirst,
Like the grass beneath her feet, pinning away to a colorless fringe,
She brings gifts for everyone, loaded fruits, plump hazels flowered in spring.

Charlatan clouds roam in guile, with no rain under their wings,
Once her bridal cavalcade, now vanish like curtains drawn aside,
Under clouds awnings draping her modesty, she lowers her fierce gaze,
Being the one pined at, she returns to arrest winter’s pride

Dew that hailed her early morn, is now frosted to eat the farmer’s corn
No whistles fluted through leaves, but tamed wind greets in euphoric hum
Tree parasols dropped their sprays, to tread the path of the butterflies,
Now embrace her like old wives, their witch’s head ungroomed and grim.

Vines she planted, in blissful disarray, await her return,
Once watered by her dreams; remind of him, who did toy,
And revel in the shade of her flowing hair that lover’s rejoice,
With the pain in the full memory of the living joy.

Her garden path strewn with petals, breathing passions, once bewitched suitors,
Now, blooms return for a quiet reunion, with reveries wrapped in their skirts,
Languor in her limbs, retires, clothes trapping left at her bed,
Like peeling leaves, shed, closest to the ground,
She returns to sleep in her own bed.

Not a rose did she gather, not a fruit did she pluck,
Or trim the garden hedge, allowed leaves to crumble to dust,
For wind shall hurry to brush away all traces of her return,
With tasks to attend in the house of her beloved, come spring
For she is here to refresh, for in this house she is just a guest.

Ah! If every sparrow is remembered for the spring it brings,
Shouldn’t autumn be remembered for that lone one’s quiet return?


[source-JohnKeats-''Ode to Autumn'']