(From my poetry collection 'The Nameless Avenue')
Benediction
Autumn
has a high fever
this
year,
fallen
leaves whimper
over
the matter
on
Velako woods,
Hoarse
wind prefers
a
sweeping clearance of
the
weaklings;
the
sound of wind
rolling
the soil
declares
decisions
a
vigilant woodsman trudges
over
his woods,
as
his dress puffing up;
the
beak sound of a wood pecker
halts
him a while.
he
bends down to pick
up
a stone;
to
take actions; but
in
change of moods
he
walks on thinking
benediction
promises
another
autumn
Vaiyavan
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