Prosepoem: ON AUTUMN (Satis Shroff) Chilly Autumn arrives soon enough, the summer flowers, those dear friends have gone. Asters and chrysanthemums still greet us. People celebrate the festival of lights, in honour of Goddess Lakshmi. Even the common crow is worshipped this day for the crow is the messenger of Death to the Hindus: Yamadoot. Another day the dog is garlanded and revered for he is Bhairab’s steed. The third day of Tihar belongs to the cow, the reincarnation of La kshmi. If you beat a cow you might be punished with a life in poverty. The fruits are ripe now, waiting to be harvested. The sun’s rays become mellow. The leaves turn golden, russet and brown. Dead leaves lie strewn in the paths. We reflect about our own lives. The dying leaves, are a metaphor of your short existence, on this beautiful earth. With splendor of Summer gone, we become thoughtful and melancholic. What has fate in store for us? In this epoch of Kali Yuga, wealth has become the perso
