October

One day, the autumn wind,
Smelling of Shiuli buds,
Knocked on my door;
The October streets lay empty
As all day long
The restless wind
Ran through harvested fields
Urging the last yellow leaves
To tremble and fall.

It rattled my window panes
And tossed my poems aside,
Whispering to me
Tales of vast, untraveled roads,
The distant lands
And adventures
Yet to come; and it spoke,
With autumn scented breath,
One word, a name.

The old fates are heartless:
They care not for suffering.
They do not love.
How silly it has been
To give my heart
To the restless wind,
And expect anything but
The autumn scent and the sound
Of falling leaves.

Diptesh Ghosh