Of September

With a glance, I see a visage, well-known and dear,  
He stands, a portal to days gone by, like the pane  
Through which the mango's bough in youthful cheer  
Whispered tales of innocence, sweet yet vain.  
But now my gaze rests upon the parchment's field,  
Where rustling pages echo leaves once sealed,  
Falling softly, as if to reclaim the past  
In this solemn chamber, where memories last.

I gaze upon him, yet know not his fame,  
As though my very birth was tied to his name.  
He departs,  
My soul in anguish, till I find him nigh,  
Like the mango tree that waits beneath my window's sky.

In whispers soft, I speak to him, where I dared not to the mango tree,  
I love him as the wind caresses branches where the mango blooms free,  
He lingers by my side through hours,  
A warmth enduring, like sunlit hours after the leaves have ceased to be.

Azra Humayra is a sub-editor at Rising Stars.