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I count the leaves as they fall

I count the leaves as they fall,
retracing journeys
to long-buried memories.

One slips prematurely,
tints as green as youthful days
when I made countless mistakes,
leaving scars I could never
be proud of.

Here comes the second, full of cracks, long overdue;
a slight touch, and it may crumble,
just like when I was
at my breaking point,
secretly wishing
a painless end.

Down to three, a perfectly brown piece,
slowly dancing in the air.
There’s grace in knowing
not every fall means disgrace,
as it returns to the soil, nourishing
upcoming buds.

I shift my upward gaze
down to the ground
and see fragments
of my life,
piled and scattered.

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If I could fall like leaves do

If I could fall like leaves do,
I’d merrily sway with the wind,
gently, knowing my time is due,
not surrendering to fate,
but realizing a dream comes true,
as my heartbeat syncs with each momentum
of gravitational pull.

The ground would welcome my liberation—
Is it the soil or am I the one being nourished,
when I decompose, vanished from naked eyes?

How graceful it would be,
if I could fall
the way leaves do.

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