One Last Leaf

What are we up to

That we are counting days before counting on our breaths

Instead of seeing life on vineyard, we complain of dearth of dead flowers on our wreaths,

That we are willing to write eulogies

More often than we would send apologies

For we are more afraid to lose ourselves

Instead of the souvenirs of love that lay on hefty shelves,

That we can vividly be witnessed to the environment, heal

But the boundaries remain there ever, seal,

That we have already believed all the efforts to be in vain

And somehow, been busy enough to not notice the battering rain,

That we are like rats pacing up and down for the best kind of cheese

Not willing to freeze at one place, please

For its intriguing how we more than focus on sunsets than on sunrise

Evidence enough that there are less books on truth than on lies,

That we have forgotten, everyday the tick tick stops for a while at nine

And flunked the fact that after every thunderstorm, there's always sunshine,

That we must soar beyond words and tenets and beliefs

For when this tumult shall pass

There will still be raiment of life on the birch, be it one last leaf

And I will gladly paint such masterpiece.