A beautiful autumn morning—
a gentle breeze
whispers
through trembling leaves.
A restless leaf,
terrified of falling
from yesterday’s green embrace—
fresh,
young,
alive…
And now,
it waits only
to fall
and die.
When winter arrives,
the trees—
and that lone tree,
old and ancient—
will stand withered,
leafless,
branchless,
voiceless…
“No shade remains from my palm,
nor fruit for anyone.”
Waiting for death.
And the axes,
merciless and heavy,
with handles carved
from the wood of the tree itself,
come crashing down
upon the roots,
to kindle a fire
inside my lifeless soul.
Fahim Arezou
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 10:24 PM UTC
A beautiful autumn morning—
a gentle breeze
whispers
through trembling leaves.
A restless leaf,
terrified of falling
from yesterday’s green embrace—
fresh,
young,
alive…
And now,
it waits only
to fall
and die.
When winter arrives,
the trees—
and that lone tree,
old and ancient—
will stand withered,
leafless,
branchless,
voiceless…
“No shade remains from my palm,
nor fruit for anyone.”
Waiting for death.
And the axes,
merciless and heavy,
with handles carved
from the wood of the tree itself,
come crashing down
upon the roots,
to kindle a fire
inside my lifeless soul.
Fahim Arezou