The Fallen Leaves Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

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The fallen leaves are weeping from sadness
A poet -fall is writing, with noises rattling.
Its last fragrance the perfume sprinkles,
The autumn flushes like the sun setting.

The proud trees, obedient, protrude
Their hands to the mirage with a hope
On the branches the letters are torn
Those are left by the wind, dope.

On the roof the rain is drum-drumming,
The fall is writing poems, gardens are rattling.
The fall's poem is as heavy as the sin,
Into the soul the razor keeps stinging.