All Individuals Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

All individuals

It was early morning walk
No one was there to talk
Some of the birds were getting ready
Only cuckoo seemed to be in hurry

But what is this sound?
Some of the yellow leaves had fallen on ground
My feet crushed them under with little force
I thought of my old age at once

They were not totally crushed under weight
But were turned into light powder
Oh time for too pack up
That is how season gives me hint about

It is beautiful gift
When we notice shift
One has to go pack up early or late
The heaven is likely to open gate

Spring may wait no more
But spread with whatever good in store
The flowers may open with petals
To make aware all individuals