The Time Of Golden Leaves

There was a time when autumn leaves bearing the animation of yellow,

Leaving their arboreal existence, used

To fly around your lips

And  out of exhaustion used

To nest in your hair.

While pausing the boat of my troubadour's existence,

I used to watch how, the rays of the sun

While living with them,

While scattering delirious petals

On the stairs of twilight, used

To call upon the sky to descend.

The innocuous dusk, would then ravish

Over your chest.

 

Cooked with adventure, somebody, would send my febrile blood to the banquet of my heart;

Down-root, the exudation of nectar

Impasted over your body and

Time's tongue, anticipating.

The coruscation of lambency, in each

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fleeting moment

Would traverse down your breasts, down the tenebrosity of your crepuscular triangle,

Into the dense coppice and while going further deep into the subaqueous abyss, would observe, bewildered,

How in the paralysed moments of bliss, the path has deepened,

How, in the flickering light of the noctiluca

The delight of penetration, every overwhelmed kiss

has been distracted;

How the celerity of every breath, boisterous at the fragrance of chameli,

Would return to your lips to say,

' I'm just remigrating...'

 

That pretense of slumber

That time of golden leaves, tend to cease,

Clutching onto my chest-hair, your song too, evanesces,

" The peacock of the night, has spread its train,

Where are you, my love? "