Season Of Ochre Robe


Autumn is our conscience.
Vast expanse of blue sky nurses it,
white clouds occasionally cover it up,
cool air quickly cleans the blockade.

Autumn is short lived.
It wears peaceful colors.
Monk like contemplation wraps it up
by logic and faith.

Autumn is a buffer between shower and snow,
like the want and end.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Sumit Ganguly

Sumit Ganguly

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Brought up at the lap of nature, traveled around thousand miles for bread and butter but finally returned to poetry, my boyhood love.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "Season Of Ochre Robe"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Archana Kaul
Member

very nice!!

wpDiscuz

The Season I Want To Live In

The Season I Want To Live In short poem

Whereby: The scent of your breath love dances like a butterfly. Drenched in your raining desire lush spring awaits. Yearnings whispered vigorously. The sun kissed golden season’s ancient story filled with certainty and uncertainty. Every word I utter reflects you.

This Season

This Season short poem

Well and maybe This Season A dream or two may come true And peace of mind will follow… This heart of mine that’s been Broken for so long may finally Forget you and be as new, as Good as new

‘Tis The Season

Tis The Season short poem

Unpleasant things of life, once completely frozen, are now thawing and melting away. Wisdom has taught us that such things, like ice caps, never came to stay. To all things, there is an ultimate purpose. This truth is certain; no

Cold Season

Cold Season long poem

That vibration has come again if I were a car a driver might say there’s an issue with the spark or with the compression because judging from the size of my tank there’s plenty of fuel I’m suffering from disjointed

Storming Out During Blackberry Season

Storming Out During Blackberry Season long poem

somewhere out on the island after a bitter flight one of those roads where they let the timber stand stuck to the blind undulations in the landscape peaks and troughs more or less permanent just an empty place for wildlife