Ankita Pokharel
Slowly, with a paused gust
A leaf fell off
Swaying in the air like a lady in a ballad
A thought grasped my mind
Detached with its belonging;
How might it have discerned the state?
Did it feel a sense of freedom?
Or agony to be away from its roots?
Or in any way a sense of distinctiveness?
Observing the way, it moved round
Trying to change the direction
Would it be fair to interpret
That it was trying to break free?
What would it posit if it could articulate?
Would it still entitle itself a tree?
Because it acted for one
Or would it give itself a new name?
Watching it descend gave me numerous thoughts
Impassive yet eccentric, I waited to watch its path
Twirling through the waves of air it reached my forehead
The partials of water in that wet leaf were telling me loud:
It wasn’t you watching the leaf
It was you watching yourself
Through that leaf that fell off the tree!
