The leaves in the forest are auburn,

ready to play their hysteric charm against the pale sky,

each leaf is carefully plucked,

like a belief,

then sewed against the path.

They lie with wise foreheads

to be touched by hurried footsteps.

At night the voluminous heap of leaves

resemble graves of many that lie

close against each other,

licking wounds silently.

Some sail…

midnight

narcissus in air

gardens bloom

If ever you had walked

an autumn forest at night,

If you had wept silently

by the solidified water of the lake,

If ever you had looked into the eye

of a desperate bird willing to remember

his home coming song,

If ever you had seen the cage of a bird hung open,

If ever the crunching of the leaves under your feet

seemed music to your ears, If ever you had missed the fire

in a firefly’s body,

If ever you had seen a stag

with bold eyes staring at the broad sky.

If you had/have –

spots of sunshine

at my fingers tips

look

                                                                                       ~Ritamvara Bhattacharya 

                                                                                     India