Sheika A.

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

to desiccation.


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.