When flowers Fall

Hi ,
I read your poems and felt that you are an empathetic with a good sense of visualization.

Beautiful poem!

I find this piece very soulful, enchanting...

Thank you for sharing it...Shell

enjoyed the poem.

beautiful poem.

Re: Shahbaz, Reply 8

I wonder who is being naive towards as--obviously for some--complex as memories. Bitterness, cynicism and pessimism have nothing to do with what is being discussed. Age does not reflect wisdom.

Bina:

This poem motivated me to dig up a very old unfinished poem of mine. Would like to share some of it. Don`t know when, if ever, it would be finished.

OF THE LEAVES THAT WERE GREEN ONCE

As I stare out the window

discerning a primordial carpet

of withering green

I marvel.

or

do I go berserk?

Greenish was the vale then

of dancing breezes

and twittering missiles

and lovers

entwined, oblivious.

By the runnel

of unpolluted water

legs dangling in the rhytmic rush

of the wily cool

we sat.

Two souls

from across the brook

greeted us as one.

Precisely then

I felt and saw in your eyes

a dream forming, coming true.

And then in the tree

beyond the window

the leaves embarked

on their haphazzard descent

(or ascent?)

.....................

emptier branches

falling ghosts.

Newer leaves

with virgin greeness

shall soon adorn

these branches.

Will ever the old leaves return?

Will you?

In the confusing playing fields

of my soul

this celestial, neverending shower

alarmed me.

I tried

a suffocatingly warm embrace

but my hands

closed in on myself.

Re: Shahbaz, Reply 6

I hope you are too young to have any memories, or... Unpleasant memories make us...well, unpleasant. Pleasant memories of those bygone era, on the other hand, make us sad. This sadness is deep felt. Pleasant memories, especially of an innocent age, can only be felt, not explained. They can only be told through symbols and metaphors.

Thanks Bina. A beautiful Poem. For everything has changed/the mango tree cut down...

Shabaz - no, that`s not what the poem is about.

Whenever someone talks to me about their memories - my mom or dad, an aunt, a friend - they always seem so happy to recall those times. And then they get this look upon their face that`s so sad - it brings to mind Godot`s (I think it was Godot) response to another article re memories of Karachi - ``What a waste, what a waste`` or something to that effect.

When the friend in the poem was recounting his memories to me, he had the exact same look on his face. But it occurred to me that as long as there was even one person that could share that memory, then it would remain alive forever.

I wanted to be that person for him; hence, this poem.

- Bina

Certainly a poem to remember. Great job.

Ras