The Fallen Leaves In the Rain

It’s such season. Even during those long and gray rainy days, in the drought under the scorching sun, and in the storm that visited with the great flood; the bad seed sown in the springtime holds out till his hour has come with teeth clenched, it took the root in the ground deeply and clutched the high wind with its body, limbs, and twigs. But now, time has grown, and it has turned into red to ripen. And fallen onto earth with decay. It’s the time of end with so much in need of need. For a flag of evil torn by an abandoned wind has lost its way, and importunate vindictiveness fades with the fallen leaves which were writhing on earth that grows harder with the last breath to find a place to dig, nevertheless, there is not even a drop of water to wet the chapped lips; nevertheless, no one comes to help close the eyes which are out of focus. It’s the wretchedness in the rain. In such a solitary hour that even the setting sun lost its glory. The torn evil flag was going with reciting dirge to blaspheme God, demolishes the thickened clay wall, struggles desperately, and set down the coffin of the sorrowful vindictiveness. It’s the season of tragic Hellenic mythology. There is no way to fill up the space between wall and wall, and sick fallen leaves tramps through the other fallen sick leaves, and the sorrowful maternity has to strangle her own born child to death. Nibbling a displeased fruit the rain is falling and the fallen leaves under the foot are collapsing.