How The Leaves Are Blown By The Wind

did i not tell you that these leaves come from the trees?
no dispute about it
about them, they grow out from there, those twigs
of the trees of life,
they get their glow, their sheen, though they have given more honor
to the sun
rather than the roots and the phloem

the season for them to mature and fall has come
and they all wait for the wind, the great strong wind to blow them all away
to their respective destinies
some find their way to the river
some to the thick heap of other leaves destined to rot
and only if you hear them
they say they come from nowhere
not from the tree of life
not from me

the leaves, my poems, the wind my way of throwing,
the tree, myself, my roots my mind, my phloem my blood

i made them all, but now, they are on their own

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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