Scattered Leaves Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

Life lives in pieces, like scattered leaves—
a few here, a few there.
They fly.
Sometimes a pattern appears,
beyond knowledge, beyond expectation.

They say life needs planning.
I doubt it.
Must it rise like a G plus four building?
Life is a process that expands,
like cytoplasm, like protoplasm.

Life happens; one must let it happen—
day after day, month after month.
Unknown events pass through it.
You walk, see strangers, cross paths, circle around.
This is how it goes.

Success? I don't know.
It depends on how you measure it.
Wealth, women, cars, families—an endless list.
Like a grocer's list:
vegetables, fruit, spices, meat, a dozen eggs—
for the refrigerator, for consumption.

Life too—
each day consumed, well or poorly.

Then a day comes.
Fatigue takes over.
Pomp and power slowly fade,
and carrying the weight of the body
becomes the central theme.

This goes on.
No one is sure where it stops.
Stop it must.

Till then, a mystery—
the most remarkable mystery.

Your life.
My life.
Our life.