Rumbling winds in the hallowing pathways with decimation at their behest
Sends shivers across ways like the shrewd monsoon tempest
Whistling the dreary songs and Crumbling the hopes of a tiny dried leaf
Clinging onto the frail and abandoned branch with a mighty belief
May be the seasons were changing or
may be there was an emptiness in his soul
For he tried his hand at everything, ever so convincingly like that dried leaf outside hall
As the strangulating breeze vanquished that leafy liveliness
His incapacitated heart bludgeoned signs of forgiveness
The dormancy of that little fig in this disarrayed possession
Convinced him of silent broken pieces inside demanding cohesion
For there would be germination at the same place when it's caressed with delicate care
As there's a similarity between a bruised conscience and the tiny leaf showing utmost dare
Lost times will make up for their Sheen upon resurrection
As he realised it's better to let go off things which garnered undue attention
And called for an endless appetite of perfection !