This October Poem by M. Asim Nehal

This October is neither cold nor dry,
thoughts are hanging up somewhere, lost in air
neither floating nor flowing, they defy
the chilled dark nights, elusive, they impair.

Shining stars are neither bright nor pale,
their glimmer dulled by this peculiar gloom
the moon seems dew-stuck, its light grown frail,
neither beaming nor gleeing, as if entombed.

Oh, globe, this warming is making me sick,
longing for the cold moments of October past,
when crisp air kissed my cheeks with icy lick,
and winter's mantle held the world steadfast.

But alas, the seasons change, and so must we,
yet memories of cold October shall forever be.