Harvest of Grief

Harvest of Grief 

Wend your nomadic way westward, 
Away from the path 
Where my dead leaves fall.
I will reap the harvest of grief alone.

Leave me alongside 
The bank of pristine nothingness.
A chasm dwells in my trunk
Hollowness, never a friend unknown.

Wander faraway to a land uncharted, 
The gust of wind may not be mighty enough 
To carry the lament of my soul.
A seed of solitude under my shade is sown.

©Rumpa Ray-Ghosh

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