The Dry Leaf Poem by Puskar Sikdar

A tiny life spun on fate's wheel,
Yet flows like a river, fierce and free.
Soft as wool in a tender embrace,
Now caged within scars none can see.

Through the window of my weary mind,
Walks a traveler burdened with sorrow.
On thorn-clad roads of silent wounds,
Chains of crimson bind tomorrow.

Once vibrant, once ablaze,
Now swayed by a ruthless gust.
A song of grief behind a laughing mask,
A dry leaf crumbles into dust.

A barkless heart, stripped and bare,
Seeks lost leaves in despair's deep shade.
A vanished green, a trace of hope,
Now etched in pain that never fades.

The joyous drum once beat so loud,
Now silenced in the pouring rain.
Drifting far in winds unknown,
A broken leaf bows to fate's domain.

Yet even frail, it longs to rise,
Though sorrow clings like autumn's mist.
And in its quiet, mournful dance,
It finds a song that still persists.

A yearning heart, in tears submerged,
Finds solace where the dry leaves lie.
With laughter stitched through weary pages,
Life turns its wheel and learns to fly.