Just like trees, with leaves

and buds that sprout then bloom, then wither, and fall.

Even yellow that turns to brown and falls and the wind takes it away,

and it’s forgotten.

Ah, like spring, summer, autumn and winter,

a ticking time bomb without a bomb

perhaps more like an hourglass

or an expiry date.

Everything comes to an end.

These are probably the answers to the yearnings.

Maybe the new season is knocking,

maybe the stars were tired of my sighs

the window pane, the flowers, and the sprinklers had had enough of my speeches.

Maybe the clouds saw my beating heart that glowed like steady fire,

and maybe the winds decided it was finally time.

Things don’t hit me until few months have passed,

so I don’t think I’ll be sad, when everything fades.

But maybe in the rear view mirror my eyes will cry

with gratitude of the things I’ve grasped

and also the things you’ve given me.

I thank you, for your time, your love, your gifts and your many laughter.

I’m grateful to have met all of you, and for the times we’d spent.

So like the leaves on those trees outside my window,

they’re falling, and soaring, as they glide in the wind,

and I won’t say it is sad, because it’s the beginning,

of a new season that has spring, summer, autumn and winter.




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