Chasing the Whispering Leaves
In my torrid terrain
soil brittle and dry turns to dust little by little,
soars high on the wings of wild wind,
some blows away from me,
some I gather in sagging palm
for feeding the skeletal roots exposed fragile
of my magnolia tree I reared with care
year after tenuous year.
Each passing day engraved in veins of leaves
morphed into verdant memory.
The storm at the edge of listless time
rose from the depth of dusk,
the surge swept the leaves away.
In the rustle I heard them whisper…
‘catch us, hold us before we disappear’.
Through the swirling dust
the twilight sun gleamed,
its spectrum sucked by my blood stoic and stolid
streamed through the enlivened essence.
I now chase the drifting mirage
of the fallen leaves flying away
from my magnolia tree defoliated,
the boughs bare and forlorn.
Through the shadows of the drifting cloud
on the beam of the setting sun
I’ll run until I reach the end of gloomy path,
catch someday the fleeting leaves,
hold them until they turn to grains of hope,
slip through my weathered fingers,
fill the void where the ancient magnolia tree
once used to be.
From the dust it'll rise,
and make me happy again.
Written : April 12, 2019
May 18, 2020
Contest : Strand No. 760
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2019
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