We are deciduous,

We shed every season,

For varied reasons,

Whims, fancies, desires and drama,

All falls away, if nature has its way,

Only the gum of trauma maybe sticky,

Takes a while to dry and wither,

It leaves a groove to find old abode as it forms new,

We still have the trunk and roots,

No part of essence is uproot,

But we will never cry for last season’s leaves,

Because the promise is left, their seats are reserved still,

Getting use to the shedding,

We are,

Getting used to the gum’s need to stick longer,

more accepting,

watching it dry,

Getting used to one more way,

No matter what: we can sway,


the promise of new leaf,

That miracle of hope,

Take note,

It never gets old….

– Rupika Moitra

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