leaves - November
i hear still the rustle of leaves,
leaves crumbled away from their
rightful mother trees,
branches now barren devoid of foliage
emptied by the crude autumn's show;
deadly calm grips the earth, dreadful quiet
reflecting moon and stars.
Not far away , gunshots fire brimming
everywhere, man's unquelled anger,
wrestle with uncompromising ego,
is it thirst for land, or blood for blood
beyond our solve, firey gunshot boom in the air;
but the "gilt leaves fall ,like innocent ,helpless
groping around; only earthern floor is their refuge.
Air struggles with chaotic bombs and guns
will they pray for an end?
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