Page 41 - Musings 2022

The Wind, the Storm

Kaustubh Chaturvedi
2018A8PS0516P

A lifeless soul, crushed by the work of the day,

Finds life under a tree’s shade, hoping for a breeze to sway,
A leaf, yellow, pale like the soul is at display,

On the tree, far up, at the canopy’s bay,
The other leaves green, but this one did betray,

The kind soul, dreaded in doom and its dismay,

With tired eyes, for the leaf to hold on, it did start to pray.

Onward comes the soothing breeze,
Entertaining the lush green leaves,

As if the dry shore is greeted by the seas,
The drained soul lastly feels at ease,

The body finally feels rid of all disease.

As the wind caresses the soul,
And the renewed mind regains control,

It is reminded of the pale leaf,
Barely holding on, by the last strands of belief,

Either the storm surrenders, or the battle ends in grief.

The leaf stayed, as the wind did run,

As David to Goliath, this time the leaf won,
The wind would return, for it calms the heat of the sun,

The pale leaf might let go, dead and done.

Another gush of wind, this time too strong,
Replenishes the soul, but it feels so wrong,

For this time the storm is long, and the leaf might not prolong.

At last, the yellow let’s go, before the wind runs out of breath,
The battle is lost, and the pale leaf begins its ballet of death,

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