Summer's blush fades, sun's kiss reluctant, air tinged
with a melancholic song the wind whispers. Leaves, once
emerald, now whisper promises of gold, turning brown
against the canvas of a sighing sky.
Here, on this worn bench, under the sighing trees,
where our laughter painted the leaves with joy, I wait.
Each rustle carries echoes of your name, whispers
of warmth lost in the chill that creeps in.
Hope, though brittle, clings to branches stripped bare,
a fallen leaf clutching the memory of spring.
Will time bend, rewrite the script, bring back
your fingers laced with mine, chasing away
the emptiness that stretches long and cold?
This silence, deafening, amplifies the phantom
melody of your laughter. Still, I see your smile
blooming defiant in the dying light, a promise
etched in the fading hues of autumn's heart.
So, let the leaves dance their fiery descent,
carrying my whispered plea down the wind:
"My love, I wait, with embers burning bright,
for autumn's embrace to reunite."
-Rashid Ali Ghazipuri