August Wind
You blow
Sweeping away
The dead leaves
And
Memories;
Sweet and bitter,
Off
Making both
Nature and I
Despondent
Allowing
The Sunlight
To soak up
The wet
Making
The land
A wasteland
Beasts running
Behind mirage
In quest of
Water until
Die
No more
Rainy clouds, buds
And bees
No happiness
But
The barrenness
Saumya Aloysius
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