By Srinjay Chakravarti

The temple's bells are loudly ringing
The fields explode with shouts and singing.
The children come to offer prayers
The fluffy clouds are white in layers.
The buds are blooming, red and yellow
The warmth of sun is gold and mellow.
The boys are leaping, caught in madness,
The kites are soaring with their gladness.
A kite cuts grooves on nimble fingers
In song and laughter, gladness lingers.
The scented wind is fey and restive
In suburbs now the mood is festive.
The autumn goddess rules the season --
And poets rhyme without a reason.