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An Ode To The Detached Leaves
Ah! The blows of autumnal wind,
Cold and callous, have encroached at last,
They have made the leaves their victims.
Look! they fall like drops of rain,
Bearing no strength of their own.
They move with the gushes of wind,
Without their own consent,
They oscillate on the wings of some invisible agents,
Who possess the secret powers,
To dispose what one proposes.
I recall once they were attached hard,
To the branches and boughs of the shadowy trees;
And sap ran into their veins,
As blood runs into the human network;
And they fluttered resisting each coldhearted gust.
They were resolute to go through each ebb and flow,
Establishing firm relations to the nourishing limbs.
And Mother Nature came stealthily to give them wash,
At the moonlit nights with the drops of dew.
While they fluttered, they produced symphony,
Unknown even to the ancient master musicians;
And they whispered in mysterious sounds,
Only understood by the cuckoos or nightingales:
The singers and agents of the feral world.
Now they rustle with each move of the autumnal gusts,
Or crackle under the feet like too crispy dried petals;
And some float on the stagnant water with green surface.
Ah! 21st century is the dawn of autumnal winds,
The blows and fatal gusts have diverted the civilizations,
And they now move on the tracks of conflicts,
Human beings fall like leaves, waft along the blows,
Detaching themselves from the nourishing boughs
And shadowy branches of faith, love and tolerance.