The Leaf

Distracted from the thick volumes of anthologies

Filtered from some great minds,

I ventured out to see the sunrise

And en route stepped on a fresh green leaf

The leaf that rolled under my feet

Or defeated in the war of the wind?

The leaf fallen from a height, 

The height of heaven:

As religion would have it;

Is the disillusioned human, 

Fresh but fallen,

In the pitfall of lifeless suffering

Of lust, love and hatred,

Of lost battles and the destined death.

The leaf could either roll away,

Each time at the risk of death;

Or give up at the inexorable wind,

In conspiracy with the fortune wheel.

What is inevitable is the yellowing of the leaf

The shrinking of its shape,

The prominent wrinkles

And crushed!

Followed by a sharp crackle

Under my feet, the accidental pawn of destiny

But, are we the fallen leaf,

Encumbered by the dread of destruction?

Or, are we the tree,

Living till the fall of its leaves?

One by one, 

Like the flipping pages of an anthology

Yet, gazing at the flap of the dawn crow

The fall of an old leaf

The warmth of the new day, 

Calming the numbness of yesterday's death.

The answer is difficult..

But the candle is flickering

Wax wasting away

Decide before the flames smoulder...

Everything lost in smoke!