Autumn Leaf: Won’t Let You Go

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There is something cruel about this November. May be I don’t remember what I felt last year this time around, but this year it’s definitely different. People around have started feeling cold. I can see that. I can feel that. I don’t know why I have stuck to autumn and its maturity. Why I have stuck in adoring the autumn instead of comforting and assuring myself of another summer in the waiting. Autumn and its maturity have long given into the decay of November. Still I find myself warm.

Its winter, trees have dried out. Detached their leaves from their twigs. They have followed the dictates of nature’s cycle. It seems they are saving their lives at the cost of those leaves which they had given birth and nourished to maturity. Leaves, which they had nurtured by supplying everything they needed from below the ground. Leaves which they had held tight in the summer winds and the stormy rain. Seems they did all they could to save themselves the stigma of separation- like a mother would do. Nature is cruel. Its power is stronger than motherhood.

Maple Leaves  by Nancy L Mora
 The falling leaves drift by my window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sunburned hands, I used to hold

Since you went away, the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

Since you went away, the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

Yes, I miss you most of all, my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

Autumn Leaves by Eric Clapton 

Their silence and gloomy silhouette follow my trail as I walk under them in this chilling cold. The warmth of the summer in me seems to have reminded them of what they have lost and what I am denying to loose. The deafening silence in them gives me the feeling that they had given into the nature’s dictate with a hope to survive the winter. A hidden hope to raise and groom another set of life. A hope to nurture them to maturity. And a false hope to keep them with them for ever and ever.

What a circus!

I too have nurtured a twig into green leaf and matured it into mellow. In its being, in its texture and color, it imbibes and reflects some traces of my aspirations, some crumbs of myself, and some hazy shades of my dreams that I could never conceive. Dream, which left me perplexed and awestruck. Dream that planted in me an invincible summer. A summer that promises of never receding into rain. Never reaching into autumn or ending into winter. A summer, that keeps the dead leaves, in me, alive. 

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P.S. Writing for self has tiring feeling attached to it. Leave some traces of your presence below, so that the summer continues to flame in me. 

Lets be friends

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