The yellowing leaves scattered in the ground
Talk of times which made it's way into past
The dampened leaves give away a pungent smell
A smell of decay, a smell enough to rot memories
Memories! Do we ever burry them?
One scratch in the wind can bring in memories roaring
The more you distance yourself, the more it tears you apart
Just like a sore wound, it inflicts despair.
The greasy soil underneath your heavy boots
Looses hope each time you trample it
But, come autumn, the soil gets a makeover
Leaves: yellow, brown, withering to its bossom
The world looks robbed but the soil leases life.
A poet may love spring, but a decaying heart sings for those scattered pieces of leaves mingling in the soil,
For what is dead can make things alive.
"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while ...
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