Poem: Fall’23. Old and Gold. Red and Dead.
Last night, after some heavy chores at home — cleaning for the Durgastami festival — I ended up watching Netflix, while I had a tinkle on my phone. I did not want to attend to it, but the WhatsApp on my laptop chimed too. I went and saw a message from Priya Patel.
Priya : I need a new topic to write about, maybe.
Ashok: Let us write about the autumn of 2023 — I think the winter will set in a few weeks.
Priya: Hmmm. autumn it is.
Ashok: yes. The Fall of 2023.
Priya: Sept 23 to Dec 21.
Ashok: Yes. we are right in the middle.
Priya: Didn’t realize it lasted that long.
Then a few minutes of silence later, Priya dropped her first verse on my screen. What followed was pure gold. In flat thirty minutes, we exchanged about a dozen verses. She ran away with the gold, of course. She is the best.
Poem: Fall 23. Old and Gold. Red and Dead.
I am sharing the poetry in sequence and time stamp to prove the eloquence of Priya ( and me, trying to keep the lockstep, and obviously, failing).
A light warmup, defining the autumn.
[12:22 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
I watched her tumble
wispy winds, crimson, and gold
I called her autumn
A slight sensory reaction, with an implication of the self. But actually, she is the autumn leaf, twirling, and perhaps crying.
[12:24 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
Did I hear her cries
as she twirled in the cool breeze
perhaps they were mine
I started with a beautiful dance towards death, with an orange blush.
[12:27 AM, 10/23/2023] Author And Poet ASHOK:
Fall is beautiful
Final dance toward their grave
Dying orange blush
Priya was already into it, now switching to the trees — the branches weep as they become barren. Wow.
[12:29 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
The trees look barren
branches weeping empty tears
Soft and steady end
Then one more — now from the trees to the autumn sky. Even the sky feels somber in fall.
[12:32 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
I wonder how the sky will sleep
knowing with the new sunrise
the leaves shall begin to fall
All this magic while I was counting my syllables. Here is my second. I try the tree bit now, following her. Trees remain alive to suffer in the winter.
[12:33 AM, 10/23/2023] Author And Poet ASHOK:
Trees soak in the rain
The living have to remain
Suffering in white.
I think Priya jumped ahead, screw the syllables. She went blazing with free verse here. Her response to my reference to ‘white’. She sees hope even in winter through crystal dreams.
[12:35 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
Ah but the white is pure
and dusts the barren branches
with inches of hope and crystal dreams
I can’t switch like her. I stay with the leaves and suffering — colorful death or white hell?
[12:37 AM, 10/23/2023] Author And Poet ASHOK:
Time for leaves to choose
Between a colorful death
Or life in white hell
She tries to give hope to my morose verses. There is the spring after the winter, of course. From red-gold to white to green.
[12:37 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
In suffering there is beauty
Fading greens into shimmering reds
buds of hope bloom pink
I am a one-trick pony. Just figuring out the syllables, yet. Now sky-cry while leaves-leave.
[12:39 AM, 10/23/2023] Author And Poet ASHOK:
Skies cry in warm tears
The golden leaves now depart
Wet silent farewell
Her leaves of the fall turn human — with memories and rest. Huh. How I wish I was like her.
[12:39 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
The leaves weave their beds
from memories past
ready to shimmer-free,
Ready to rest the winter out
From nowhere, I write one gem. Social verse this. Golden garbage does not get attention from humans, whose greed remains beyond the season.
[12:44 AM, 10/23/2023] Author And Poet ASHOK:
Nobody is richer
Golden garbage on the floor
Greed will still remain
Her leaves have the premonition of death. The season of fall is truly humanized in her verses, don’t you agree?
[12:44 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL:
Leaves shiver from clouds above
as if knowing their time is near
I wonder if they weep too
If shake free or are tossed in a hapless breeze
I stay social. I think about the bloodshed everywhere, and this verse turns out.
[12:53 AM, 10/23/2023] Author And Poet ASHOK:
This innocent fall
The ground elsewhere soaked in blood
Even leaves are red innocent fall
[12:53 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL: That is your best
[12:54 AM, 10/23/2023] Priya PATEL: I like that one
As you can see, Priya is the best — she led, pushed me to write the Haiku (I tried), and left the last word to me and topped up with praise. Her magnanimity is what the world needs this Fall.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2023
