Dead leaves fall
In heaps
From the aged Tree of Life
As greying hair do
From an old man's head;
Is it dying?
Its brittle old branches
Now Almost naked
Fully exposed
To the scorching sun
And dust-laden whirlwinds;
How long will it survive
Violent storms?
Day after day
Scavengers sweep
Carcasses of virtue,
Yellow leaves,
From the city's footpaths
Hoping tomorrow
Their number will decrease.
The roads are full though
Stacks of fallen leaves;
And, we, the half-living
Teeming millions
Children of decay
Born out of sin
Walk over
Emblems of glory
Of a bygone age;
Trample under foot
Unmindful of the suffering
Groans, creaks, squeaks
Of the meek of the earth.
No respite in sight
No place to bury these dead
Smouldering fires
Without heat
Ignited
All over the city;
Tall columns of smoke
Engulf the streets.
Burning odours
Crackling sounds
Dust storms;
The flowers,
Fruits in infancy,
All dropping dead.
Tears in the eyes
Ah, at last,
A few drops of rain.
Hopes are raised
The half dead tree might revive,
Or else
New life might sprout
A new cycle might start;
A new world from the fruits,
The seeds
Of the ancient tree
Might come into being.