The Withered Yellow Leaf

Below the rusted park bench,

there was a shimmering hue.

I bent down with a trembling hunch,

searching for a clueless clue .

In the corner of the sprinkled grass,

I found an yellow leaf .

Its texture was as bland as brass ,

it look withered , gripped in terrible grief .

As though it waited for a touch like mine ,

it started singing - its dirge to me .

I listened to it , the soulful whine ,

I felt the rhythm in my heart, ‘twas a song for me .

Few ages back , I was up there ,

so very green and mighty fine .

I stood on top above them all ,

The proud proud leaf of the ivy vine .

The mightiest of winds

tried to blow me away ,

But I remained firm

and did no more than sway .

Alone , above and top of all ,

I stood rigid day after day .

I took in lots of food and health

In the hope of putting age at bay .

When Autumn came and pushed us ,

I was the last to fall .

Proud and mighty I may be

even I did succumb to the nature’s call .

Down I fell with the lowly leaves ,

who were happy in falling together .

They welcomed me with warmth and love ,

but the cruel wind pushed me hither.

I did see the mighty leaf ,

its skin so wet with a tear ,

“Oh ! Humble man” ,it pleaded me,

I want to be near to my dear .

I placed him in the yellow pile ,

where he joined the jubilation I could hear .

The pressing weight lifted from my heart

and I knew my freedom was near

I walked back to my little grandson’s home ,

abating all my fear



I am Krupa, a regular nutcase, with a crazy impulse to write lot of stories and poems. Am Indian, crazy, creative, bookworm, incurable romantic and insatiable Coffee lover.

Read More