Guest Post by Pervaiz Munir Alvi
ATP recently had a post on Fall Foliage in Pakistan’s Northern Areas here. During this time of the year the hills and valleys glisten with nature’s display of colors. Just like Spring, Fall is also an inspiring season for the writers. This little poem captures one of those moods of nature. A perfect Fall Day At The Inn.
The accompanied photo shows Fall Foliage in Hunza valley of Northern Pakistan.
A Perfect Fall Day At The Inn
The Innkeeper by the fireplace looked and said to me
Oh sir, you must once step outside the lodge and see
The brilliant sunlight filtering through the fall trees
Polishing those colorful pebbles of the fallen leaves
Indeed sir, what a perfect fall day in the sun for you.And I did step outside the inn for myself to see
The filtering sun, the falling leaves and the trees
And I also saw by the sidewalk in front of me
In the burst of cold wind setting from the north
That desperate last dance of those fallen leaves
On a perfect fall day in the courtyard of the inn.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Bravo Roshan Malik. Your reference of Keats has moved this posting an other notch upward. Glad to know there are other lovers of poetry as well, out there. Keats brings the entire season of Fall on one canvas; like a keen painter.
and Bilal Zuberi. As they say (in an other context), “Fall back, Spring ahead” Fall is a season to reminisce and bring things back into perspective. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
and Owais Mughal. Thank you for beautifully formatting this site.
Alvi Sb,
Your poem reminded me one of my favorite poems by J. Keats
‘Ode to the Autumn’
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’erbrimmed their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, –
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Pervaiz Sahib,
I must admit I havenot experienced fall in Pakistan, having lived in Karchi for most of my life.
But while in the US, Fall has been my favorite time of the year. It has a way of reminding me of bhoolee basree yadein. Every year, at least once, I see myself I kick the leaves in the air, smell the mud underneath, and talk to myself as I walk around. The walk ends with a nice cup of chai, perhaps to wake myself up from my thoughts and dreams.
Pervaiz Sahib. Thanks for sharing this beautiful poem.