Listen to the skies, the falling leaves are telling a story,
One that I have forgotten now.
I can never quite make out what they’re saying,
But I know it’s the story I’ve wanted to remember for so long.
For so long, I have been searching alone,
Trying to give meaning to words that feel unknown.
I’ve been watching in silence, living by myself.
I’m too weak to be great, too strong to give up hope.
Drowned to the depths of mediocrity,
Wishing the story could end differently.
The world is filled with lazy fools,
Dedication, determination—strong-willed live in delusions.
Empathy, sympathy, and unspoken bonds—all in vain.
It’s a dark, gloomy world, but we might just make it work.
Take action with every breath, inaction rots away the brain.
Molecules composing life, chemistry influencing mind,
And faint little music, like whispering leaves, unheard but there.
Falling leaves—it comes down to this,
Stories are told before we perish.
And what do we do if they fail to captivate?
We pass the beacon to the next in line—
Carrying our sorrows, our struggles,
dreams, and wounds,
burdening them with generational pain.
A minor plays in a steady rhythm,
Melancholic tones fill the air.
Look at the dark skies and fallen leaves,
You can never feel every drop that touches your face.
Tears in the rain seem meaningless—
But not to butterflies.
The droplets weigh too heavy for their fragile wings;
They must find shelter in time.
If all else fails, they fold their wings and remain still—
Letting time pass.
With time, the rain will stop,
The tears will dry,
And the falling leaves will sing no more.
Pritam Mondal 