DEAD LEAVES
The dead leaves,
Try to dance and move,
With the wind’s song and be green
again.
Again will they be the same?
Again will they be alive?
Will they be tree’s buddy again?
No.
Dead spirit of life will not rise,
To nature’s haunting call,
May the wind beat its trumpet?
May sun give its clarion call?
Will the numb body melt?
Or, Will it respond ever?
Can a dead heart quiver?
With the only they will move,
With him shall they rustle and
hustle.
Never will self-strength be their
creed,
To pain will they heed?
But why shall the tree cry?
Over a dead friend.
Does it mourn even for a second?
Does tear ever flow?
Over the trunk.
The tree knows that the leave’s
wound,
Shall make the soil fecund.
And it shall again grow,
And again green leaves will overflow.
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