Poetic Prisms On Sunday By Tapas Dey

Surrender to time

A tree, aged one , standing alone beside a river, is seen gloomy. The first leaf of the tree that comes out of the crust, sees the soft light of the sun first. Consuming light and water in the breeze it grows, now one year running.

But for a natural vagary of summer, a brunt of ill wind falls off the leaf, then is that passing gently down the river. With a heavy mind, the tree keeps looking at the leaf that fails to transcend the flux of time.

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