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The Rustling Leaves
Contributed by
Muhammadshanazar
on
Saturday, 27th January 2007 @ 08:03:10 AM in AEST
Topic:
Nostalgic
|
In the cold wintry evening,
When it was gloam and twilight,
Covering myself with thick blanket of wool,
I used to go to a small garden,
Where my father planted the apple trees.
Often I roved around the victims,
Of callous spoiling Autumn.
The leafless branches tormented me,
Presenting undressed bare reality.
They looked like skeletons of ghosts,
Without flesh, with naked bones,
Who often disturb us in our sleep.
The swishy wind blew moaning,
Lamenting over the bodies,
Of the dried fallen leaves,
Blowing them to this or that end,
Resting nowhere to be disposed,
Some swept onto the stagnant water,
On the green surface to float.
The blown rustling leaves reminded,
Once they were fresh and green,
Fluttered resisting blows of the wind,
Sucked the honeyed sap of life,
When attached to the source.
Amid the blooming winter crops,
The grove presented a doleful contrast,
Making depressed both heart and mind,
The vanished tongue whispering a secret,
Consoled the weeping heart over the plague,
That death is the overleaf of life,
The front side overshadows the other.
Copyright ©
Muhammadshanazar
... [
2007-01-27 08:03:10]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: The Rustling Leaves
(User Rating: 1 )
by deadheadpoet on
Saturday, 27th January 2007 @ 09:47:27 AM AEST
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a Message)
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A stunning write, my friend. I am never disappointed when I come to read you. Thanks for sharing.
Peace, Laura |
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Re: The Rustling Leaves
(User Rating: 1 )
by smilin_eyes on
Saturday, 10th February 2007 @ 10:48:23 PM AEST
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a Message)
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"That death is the overleaf of life,
The front side overshadows the other."
loved the last part...it's so very true...
a poem that clings to reality...the harsh reality...a very melancholy portrayal of Autumn...hey u've got the skill to capture a scene...great work
cheers.
~smilin_eyes~ |
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