When the winds blow
free
The tree loses
a leaf
But the leaf loses
an entire tree

blessed sting
i’m numb
with jubilation
today
a nettle found me

Spilt blood seeps into the cracks of the earth
Floating gently down like a plucked feather
Deeper and deeper into the black soil
Which turns purple, slowly, like a bruised fruit
Carrying its infected blood to the core.
Festering roots grow, a tumour,
Which rises and bursts like an overripe fig
Into the open landscape below which it swelled.
Pink leaves hang from its twisted branches
And casts a black shadow submerging us all

A leaf, a leaf!
Some red, some yellow, some green
They're jagged
They're smooth
Some ribbed
Some pruned

Fallen from the tree or bush they once grew
turned brown and crinkled then stepped on with a shoe!

A leaf drifting thousand miles,
against the wind, it live.
A mountain stood arrogantly,
against the withering time, it live.
Therefore, those who persist are alive,
the dead dare not struggle.
Struggling is life, persisting is life,
but life is not struggling or persisting.