The leaves are worn out,
With time embedded in its existence.
They glide, as they freefall,
From the towering tops off,
The guardians of the forest.
The air, crisp and cold,
Lifts them mid flight and they float away,
Yellow with the age of a year.
It was autumn, and the birds were in their glory.
Singing, whistling, enjoying,
Their chirps faintly audible,
Though their presence could not be ignored.
The roads were paved with footprints invisible,
Of people who travelled ages ago.
After which it was left to nature’s exposure.
The rays from the heavens descended,
From the gaps made courteously by the canopies,
Like beams of lights, they lit up the world below.
The branches droop with age on its heavy shoulders.
They make way for us to walk beneath them,
They invite, they lure with their beauty.
“Tread the ways no one has gone”
They ask. “Why so alone?”
The winds urge me,
They push me along,
They float by, brushing against my skin,
Sticking like needles made of ice,
They hurt, yet inspire.
The sun’s warmth was meaningless,
To this invisible power,
Gliding by with its uttermost grace,
Amongst the path set ablaze.
Through the fiery depths of heaven,
I walk, alone.