Autumn by Ruswa Fatehpuri

Ali Abbas


At the dizzy end of Fall

Disoriented. Winter coat, summer shoes

Leaves wet in heavy piles, the smell

Your shawls retreived from plastic

Memories preserved in aspic

Quiet streets, the afternoon

Christmas lights and cloudless skies

I finger spines of all the books I will not give

Wind whispers in the branches, who and who?

Did you leave her? Did she leave you?

Ruswa Fatehpuri

from Sold and Bartered

Thematically related Post:

And as Autumn rolls around again, so does this poem, reblogged at re-linked…

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3 thoughts on “Autumn by Ruswa Fatehpuri

  1. Pretty, even in the melancholy of his loss. Thank you for sharing that, Ali. It’s really looking like autumn, appropriately, here, too. I’ve been cooking up a piece of seasonal written prose of some sort, if only in my mind.


  2. I wonder if authors or writing syles could be classified by seasons? If we think of Autumn as fat with the fruits of summer, but mutable and leaning into decay, are some authors just permanently autumnal? Or do you see the seasons affecting the style and content of what you write? Are stories more hopeful and energetic when written or conceived in spring; or are you someone whose writing exudes “spring-ness”?

    Perhaps trivially, despite the unusual seaonal patterns in Game of Thrones there is the constant underlying theme — winter is coming.

    Take the seasonal prose out of your mind and onto the page please Leigh.


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