The season turns

the season hurts

It's meant to wrap the darkness around

that enigma of the soul,

the desert, the sea, everything secretive,

dark like the Indian soil and the Indian rain, the Indian soul.

The hands of the breeze are warm and cold.

The enigmatic season, that's how it rains;

it rains in step; it rains out of step;

it scares,; it beckons;

it turns away;

it wraps around;

it swings;

it stops;

it creates a want; creates a need;

it changes the color of the sky from blue to gray,

from gray to pitch dark

of the moonless night.

It brings a dance that destroys the belief;

makes you a Spartan cynic who who doubts all.

The season turns and hurts on the go,

leaving a trail of in the air and the soul.