autumn_evening_in_park-1564343.jpgThey say we are each born with ideas;

And we pick up more as we grow;

Till we are so full we can’t take anything else in;

Unable to carry the burden we walk around;

And the weight keeps tightening in our throats.

However as I walked back that day;

I could hear my dreams crunching beneath my feet.

They were autumn leaves.

Shed by trees who had undertaken their ritual austerity;

And who waited in anticipation of a long Winter;

When they can finally go to sleep.

As the trees had shed their leaves;

So had I shed my old dreams.

The air was crisp and thick with the crushed expectations.

When an idea shatters, it leaves in its wake grief;

But also the promise of rebirth;

Of something better, something even more beautiful.

Under the glow of the solitary street lamp;

I watched as the dew drops glistened on the golden leaves.

There was no pain in my heart;

Only a most addictive feeling;

Being overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of life!

What is indeed, life meant for;

If not to savor the beauty of Autumn?

When a hope is crushed, it makes but a feeble sound;

Which nonetheless can be heard clearly;

And which fills the heart of men with sadness, sometimes pity.

But hopes are crushed so new leaves can grow.

Green and vibrant, full of life!

Dancing in the joy of sunlight!

The hope is replaced by something better, something more beautiful.

For what is indeed, life meant for;

If not to savor the beauty of Autumn?




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