Autumn should have arrived ten days ago
but the days are mystifyingly clear
and with a cool breeze today –
we are probably receiving the residual
monsoon winds from across borders.
This stray monsoon doesn’t know it can
never initiate rain on my ground –
we live under a despot sun.
My skin hasn’t started to flake,
darken and wrinkle like autumn-inflicted trees,
but has turned a shade lighter –
an unwelcome unexpected
Spring never arrived; summer hasn’t left;
autumn is late; the months are shedding
days faster than the leaves in flight
The days carry themselves with eccentric
precision – eight years have seen no change.
Winter will be its nonage burgundy self;
the nights crusting with sadness,
the hours condensing with slowness.