The old yellow leaf
Let go from its world,
Floats in the air,
And swings its way down,
To place itself on the grey tomb.
The birds chirp sweetly,
In a sound that is almost music.
The leaves of the dark green trees,
Rustling in the wind,
Makes the place colder.
The loud silence is ending.
The dew drops are drying.
The sun is almost peeping out.
The insects crawl back home.
The breeze sings the hymns.
A beautiful morning.
In the most genuine place ever.
A place that paves way to heaven.
Millions of memories stay reduced in
a stone.
The most genuine emotions stay
contained in the place.
A place with dried tears of love.
A place where the blessed and the
sinned are laid,
To reach the destined place away from
the world.
A world of its own.
A life after the life.
After meeting the ultimate truth.
The truth of death.
The one truth that cannot be denied.
The truth that is most true of all.
The truth that one has to accept.
That comes calling the one time.
Most feared, yet it bores beauty to
it.
It has to be embraced when its time.
With a smile that says all.
It has to be loved the way one loves
life.
It has to be respected for what it
is.
The most genuine truth.
The one that makes the world as much
as the life.
The one that makes us ponder.
And yearn for love when you wait for
it.
