The Leaf

This leaf from the canopy above,

Falls to the ground , or rather tries to ,

When a gust of wind comes about,
Lifts it up, and away it flew.

Carried by this unknown force,
It twists and turns and rises and falls,
It rues the fact of being so vulnerable,
Rest it shouts , for freedom it calls .

Changing direction with every random wind,
It notices the dust that flies with it .
"No different I am from these helpless beings " , it thinks
"To this indifferent won't we all submit"

It realizes the pain of being controlled,
But forgets something that had always been,
The golden sun and the blue sky ,
Remind the leaf of its color , still green!

Sharp veins still ran through its body,
The sunlight still shines on its dewy layers.
Its unique identity still intact,
Whatever the wind does now , the leaf little cares.

Let the cosmos play its sport,
What you always were , is what you have become.
We hold our own strings ,
Our own Randomness defines our Freedom.