The long and majestic driveway to the colonial bungalow of my son, which is my temporary abode these days, fascinates and charms me no end. Lodged for long hours in the front open verandah of this opulent house, it never tires me to behold this Asoka lined wooded passage.
On a late April afternoon, as I sit and see the leaves of these tall stately tree fall from the branches as a gentle breeze sweeps them, the inevitable truth of departure and death confronts me.
Falling leaves from Asoka,
A sight so serene and grand
Leaving the tree they called home,
Drifting gracefully to the land.
Like life that ebbs and flows,
Each leaf a symbol of demise
Does a new beginning follow,
Or are memories all that survive?
Do they feel the pain of parting,
From the branches they grew with love?
Or is it just a natural cycle,
Of detachment and moving on?
As they lay scattered on the ground,
Do they mourn their final fall?
Or do they embrace their new journey,
As a tiny bud waiting to grow tall?
Year after year, they shed their leaves,
Renewing with fresh ones in tow,
A cycle of death and rebirth,
A reminder of life’s ebb and flow.
Is it the same for us humans,
Moving from one fall to another?
Migrating from one birth to death,
As we journey through life’s wonder.
So let us cherish each moment,
As we shed our own leaves along the way,
Embrace the new beginnings,
As we gracefully drift and sway.
scribo ad LX 