Ode to Autumn


The poem, “Ode to Autumn” by John Keats greatly inspired me to write this poem. So, this poem has been written to give an honour to John Keats.  His poem is a masterpiece. The difference between my poem and his poem is that he has compared Autumn to an old lady to elaborate the beauty of Autumn. While, my poem is just elaborating the beauty of Autumn. The one season of the year that god seemed to have put there just for the beauty of it. I hope you all like it.

Season of fitful gusts and mellow fruitfulness.

Close blossom days of childhood.

And, the mossy elm trees takes the fade leaves away.

Fills the casement all the day with fruits and flowers.

The autumn and spring seems to be conspiring with each other.

Twirling it by the vines that round the thatch-caves run.

With thousand others mossed cottage trees.

And, the trees get fulfilled with the extreme ripeness of fruits.

Like the shaking twig that dance till the shut of eve.

Yet, the gusts shakes up and swell the gourd.

To plump the hazel shells.

Birds sing, bees sting.

And, the chirping of birds with the sweet kernel of bees.

Conspiring with the autumn and spring.

Indulge in leads to make us believe that warm days will never cease.

That spring sings an ode to autumn yet, the summer laps with flowers to bloom.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy mist

Curling upward through the blossom trees.

Drowse with the cottage smoke while thy hook.

Spares the next swathe and all in twinned flowers.

Nestled around the vineyard.

Adjoining the roots with the extreme ripeness.

Like, the autumn watch the drop by drop of the grape juice oozing from the cider press.

From dazzling days to dull November days.

The clock is all set upon the two illusions that flourished.

Fall across the stubbled lea.

Adorned near the old crown trees and scrambled by the maturing sun.

While, barred clouds bloom the soft dying days.

And touch the old days with rosy hue.

Yet, sinking as the light wind lives.

Embellished the wind with whistles from the garden rift.

Like, gathering of the skies on the surface of cloud.

The full grown clouds reminds of the sallows among the river, soft whispering of the autumn wind,

And, the chirping of birds from the hillside.

The twittering of the swallows are all made during the autumn.

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Enigma Part 2


The world beneath it is incredible like a giant merry-go-round.

But the truth is fathomed by a very few only as whoever tries to enter in that world get sabotaged by desolate images from the past and future.

Exploring the hidden place is like moving in circle to reach at the centre to collect the missing pieces of puzzle and connecting them to resolve the mystery of tangled thoughts.

Yet, to unearth the secret the constellations are formed and dots get connected to make a picture in the night.

When you take a closer look at it, the picture slowly becomes bigger until eventually it stops expanding.

(To be continued)


Enigma Part 1

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The spine-tingling and amusing tale begins.

It drew near the unflinching look into the human heart yet, the mystery begins with the arrival of an unnamed tamed man.

And, the illusion is good as the gripping dream.

Like a dazzling display of a brilliant imagination, great insight and craftsmanship.

Bound by a mythical destiny.

Bright, beautiful and optimistic;

The journey is filled with intense curiosity yet, jaded by disillusionment embark.

To depart in an enigmatic land full of sprinkled tiny particles of magic. 

Like a thousand of stars are clustered together and scattered around the Milky Way galaxy.

Somewhere in time and space, the secret behind such discovery exists.

But if one look at it deeply and closely enough so the dots get automatically connected to one another. 

Yet, it demands to be ventured at night.

Beneath the obscure revelation, the land full of amazement is hidden behind the rocket underneath the tower.

Like, the universe is surrounded by the billion of galaxies yet, the trillion of stars shapes and recreates it’s essence. 

(To be continued)

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The eyes in the sky gaze on the ground

As the sunrise ripples across the horizon,

We drew in the Midst of the lust and savage forest of distinct creatures.

And a magic jewel splashed from its shrine.

Mysterious and magical;



Crisply the tale behind the stolen magic jewel whispered yet, my feet stumbled upon the cobblestone path.

And the pebbles crunched beneath our feet

As we walked along the pathway 

Yet, it drew us near the main entrance to the triple gateway.



Leading to the sparkling white mountains and beneath the trees, the fireplace was giving warmth. 

Like the slight greasy luster captures the soul of a man.

The place on the top of the hills has been lent a soul.



And, entering into the eight carved marble arches bow a welcome.

Yet, the path lined with trees envelopes you.

And, once, the diamond jewel was the essence of the forest.



Countless, centuries ago the forest  was named after the finest, flawless and glittering jewel .

Before the slight luster captured the heart of a millions of people and filled their mind with greediness.



The long and broad leaves were a net to hold the ray of sunlight.

Each trunk in turn were taught the right way to sprinkle light upon the fallen leaves.

And, so for years, the forest hold it’s true essence.



Like, out of the splinters that remain and waves the direction of air.

It’s beauty remained on the remnants of the tree.

And yet again the sun like a fiery disc, slided into the horizon.


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The unveiling nature of universe is mysterious yet, full of miracles.
It’s wonderful, how can it speak right to my soul.
Beyond the power of words, it lights up my whole world.
Like the earthen lamps light up every nook and corners.
Try as I may, I could never explain.
Bright, beautiful and intriguing.
The beauty of raving thoughts.
Brings smile on my face and connects my mind to soul.
And, the sparkling eyes in the midst of the night, experiences the high frequency of happiness.
Yet, the glittering stars on the surface of white clouds fills the heart with dreams and desires.
Like the extended banks of long French loaves.
All day long, my soul looks for the connection and my mind wanders.
Like, the feet on the ground and mind in the galaxy of stars.
The Midas touch of it carries a secret message.
But, when that ray of hope, holds me near my feet flutter across the floor.
And, the bond with the universe enlightens my soul.

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In the hum of spring, voice of insects soothes the soul.
Like a pristine sound that gleans to the spring in muse.
And music as the buzz of the saw mill yet, the hum of insects is a pure bliss.
Like the reminiscence of childhood memories.
The universal music composed by the voice of insects and noise of the birds makes heart bound yet, connects us to the interim of soul.
Like an unscrupulous enemy, it crawls into the ear yet, pulls us back to the childhood days.
Though gentle in character yet, their tedious company often irritates.
And lying motionless till the inoffensive bee or wasp had flown away prevents us from getting stung yet, it’s delightful to see insects fly away.
The buzzing sound of insects soar high over the clouds yet, the rhythm of heart and the trail of blood responds to the rhythm of the sound.
Like the Noah’s ark is a place of happiness and peace.
It manifolds the aspect of the heavenly music of nature.
Bees and wasps are the noble creatures yet, they may turn out to be exasperated if anyone tries to invade their privacy.
From miles away, struck at it with a spade and roused in it a blind passion for reprisal.
Yet, align themselves with human beings.
Like the ark that escapes the deluge and fills the life with serge of happiness.
And the mind is bound to speculate yet, surrounding seems to gleam with the spring.
Yet, it seems as essentially beautiful as a thing as the noise of the sea.
Beyond the infinite limerence of any music of instruments.
The rhythm of wave, birds and bees echoes in some way.
Like the million-fold chorus of life, the magnified echo of one’s own pleasure in being alive.
Beyond the garden gate and beside the sea, the world remained in the infinite peace of childhood.
Like a note of music, everything seems to dance on the gateway to life.
Yet, the garden paths edged with box, the old dilapidated wooden seat under the tree house and an apple-tree in the long grass, all together reminds of the spring and summer days.
And a stream beyond the apple-tree and all those things that made childhood, infinitely happy.
The illusion of those days will going to last forever.
Childhood was a dream than reality yet, everything had a tale to tell.
Through the endless pleasure of watching and listening to the hum of insects and noise of birds.
The pleasure of memory is as enchanting as the hum of a musical note.
In the hum of spring, voice of insects soothes the soul.

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A flawless half moon floated in a crystal blue sky.

Extended banks of cloud like long French loaves glowed pink.

As the sun emerged to splash the distant mountain tops with rose tinted blush

Beckoning the sun, we headed towards high mountains.

From the gentle rolling hills to the vast open plain.

Across a few gazelles frown boundaries away into the void.

From nibbling the arid pastures to the Silk Road.

The plains become more stony than gravy yet, a herd of wild ass curse into view.

Far away from the palm of dust.

Plumes of dust billowed into the crisp yet, hills begin to beckoning the dust.

And the rocky wilderness seems to be tending their flocks.

The Nomad’s dark tents pitched in splendid isolation.

Like the objects look near in the mirror than they appear.

As we drew near the fresh air directed towards us.

And, the snow capped mountains gathering on the horizon yet, the river was wide and broad.

It was clogged with ice yet, the appearance of it was ornamenting the valley.

Glistening and glinting in the sunshine.

Suddenly, the trail lugged it’s bank yet, twisting with the meanders.

Hazy and cloudy sky covered the mountain top and the valley sides closed in.

Drifting away from the icy river yet, laboring through steeper slopes.

Like, the sported big rocks daubed with patches of bright orange lichen.

Beneath the surface of rocks, hunks of snow clung on.

And, the mist threw the permanent shade which blurred the vision.

Yet, the pressure from the speedy wind begin to build up.

And, letting in a breath of cold air, snorted and cleared the way.

Like a swathe of the white stuff lays and covers the surface of the path.

Veering away from the speedy wind yet, the dirt trail reappeared.

And the breath of fresh air was smoothing the abrupt path in the up-slope side.

The path was too steep to step upon.

It was encrusted with snow and begin to slither and slide forward.

Like grabbing the handful of snowflakes and fling them across the horizon.

Yet, drove towards the icy surface.

The slope was steep and stud.

Lurching from one direction to other.

Yet, the surface of the horizon was covered by the cairn of rocks.

And, the white silk scarves festooned the cairn.

In the clockwise direction, the vestige of the ocean emerged.

Beside the great continental collision, the hive of activity lifted the snowflakes downward.

Yet, the cold breeze lifted it skyward.

Venerated stretch of water, scattered the flakes of snow.

And the sun shone brilliantly in the clear blue sky.

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