Those leaves had once blossomed
on the tree
that gave fruits and flowers,
shade, peace and coolness…
I used to squeal in delight
at swaying of those leaves in the wind
the same leaves detached
from their mother tree
are now lying helpless on the earth
preparing to enter the final stretch
before getting slowly decomposed
My shoes were not even ashamed
to trample them
they couldn’t even hear
the moan of those old dry leaves
they couldn’t feel
the agony of those helpless faces…
How can I say these shoes are mine
bereft of any sense of empathy?
I feel the pain, but not my shoes?
no pinch at all?
I throw them out to ponder
can my feet fill the shoes’ shoes,
may be just for shoeing the goose?
I look at the pictures of olden days
in my well-decorated house
lucky, they are still hanging on...