Walking towards my gym
In MIG Club at Bandra East,
I espy at the corner a huge tree
Shedding corpses, brown and dried,
Lying loose on the street.
Thought strikes me this is their grave:
Sometimes swept by municipal brooms,
Sometimes burnt for dispelling cold,
Burial place or cremation ground.
For the moment, they are awaiting fate;
The tree having discarded them,
They have fallen to the ground -
Just like that -
The title of Osho’s book
For sufi lecture series.
No stress, no attachment
Once the period is over,
Leaf is allowed to fall,
Or it falls on its own.
No argument, no appeal:
I hope I go the same way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the way you see this.....awesome