An untimely autumn rain has,
Spread a haze above the boughs of trees.
At their feet lie the variegated leaves,
And half-dead frangipani blooms,
Their colours dissolving in soil,
And the moisture vaporising in the air.
Their remaining veins and lamina,
Meditate near the roots,
To transact their small survival,
And the eventual afterlife carefully.
The silent and grey verdure of trees,
Has raised the tumult of insects,
Among both free and alive leaves.
Oh I love so much!
The persistent symphony of crickets.
Which I take as a trophy of the day.
Are these fireflies the dancing stars?
Which have come to light!
The upper rooms of teak trees.
From where little owlets peer.
The potent fragrance of coral jasmine,
Wafts in the air towards dawn.
They sing demurely and their music,
Spreads as a delicate scent.
As they fall in an odd delight,
To welcome autumn and its interplay,
Of death and regeneration.
