The Last Leafs Promise

Just when spring walked in, they strode.
To the humble winds, they disrobe.
Took in all that spring had to offer.
Warmth, was the most pleasant claim it had offered.

Just when warmth was right in proportion.
They bloomed their mellifluous emotions.
When summer creeped in, they did ripe.
And with every ripened vibe, they did rise.

So just when autumn came.
Every colour knew its game.
Each colour walked into the life.
To bring a little halt to windy cries.
It took down all their bloom
Other walked and crushed their bloom.
Shed, shed, all they shed.
And all that was left “the last leaf” to be shed.

Just when you judged them to be trees.
I was talking about human beauty.
Spring was the girl he had met.
To undo all he had set.
Warmth was all she had to offer.
He laid his claim to what she offered.

They grew all the summer and summers that came along.
They drew, to ripe along.
Ripe brought vulnerability.
Crispy, tangy and sour taste too.

That autumn was their first fight.
What showed a straight colour, drew different colours and it wasn’t right.
It brought a halt to the ripened dreams.
And a deep cut to his hallucinating regime.
It took down all their bloom.
Shed, shed, all they shed.

But little did they know, the last leaf’s promise.
It said “winter was a prolonged autumn, but every winter has promised a spring, a summer and another autumn”.

~Tuba Shabir.

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