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Before the fragrance leaves the flowers
And the sky gives up its colors ,
Let us leave this world
The two of us
Together,
Leaving behind, a few
Shrunken , shriveled memories
Which
Like the yellowed leaves of
The Pippul tree –
Will get scattered
Far and wide
By the winds of Time.
The leaves cannot tell
That the Pippul was barren,
Nor can memories echo
The emptiness
Of our lives.
So let us leave
While we can still
Hear the wind sing
And feel the softness
Of a feather.
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10 Oct 1988 / h /
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10 Oct 1988 / h /
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