Thursday 1 March 2007

Falling Leaves

When you wake up on a cloudy morning,

And feel the coolness set your skin burning,
When fortune plays a rhythmless tune,
And beyond dune is yet another dune.

When you can no longer bear any more,
And there’s still a lot more in store,
When your inherent ability is brought to fore,
And from the lashing, your mind and senses are sore.

When familiarity seems a total stranger,
And lurking in the corners is danger,
When things begin to happen none too soon,
And there’s no sign of the oncoming monsoon.

Across the sea, when no shore is visible,
And the crack of dawn, seems not credible,
When the last bit of despair and of fear,
Is replaced by a flood of tear after tear.

With the shadows around growing longer,
And the weakness within getting stronger,
When the certainties in life begin to ponder,
And neighbours appear to shift away yonder.

When the vapours begin to gradually freeze,
And yet, there’s no sign of the comforting breeze,
When at horizon, the earth meets the sky,
And ‘within your reach’ is still too high.

When the stars begin, to one by one fall,
And everyday demands seem to get too tall,
When the mountains begin their forward surge,
And to do nothing you require a greater urge.

When the densest fog seems too clear,
And your enemies want to get really dear,
When the distances seem very much near,
And yet, your own heartbeat, you cannot hear.

When everybody in your life goes nowhere,
And being here is no longer the same as being there,
When nothing, is the maximum that you will share,
And indifference is about all that you care.

When everything is visible even in the dark,
And yet, not a single arrow finds its mark,
When the shadows throw themselves on the light,
And even the meek don’t give up without a fight.

When at the climax of a successful show,
You forget the direction in which to row,
And the shame of failure, doesn’t even let you bow,
For, the seeds of desperation, it has sought to sow.

That there is a tomorrow, suffice it to know,
Keep your cool and let the bad times flow,
Falling leaves in autumn aren’t the ending,
But a sacrifice for the offshoots of a new beginning.

- GUPTA GHOST

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