In the mild breeze, the cheerful leaves,
Are swinging, singing, ho!
Young and glossy, smooth and strong, they’re
Swinging, singing, ho!
But something seems to be wrong with this little leaf, a member of the big family.
“I don’t want to fall and die so soon,
But I’m hurt and unable to cling
To you, Mamma!”
The branch replied,
“Hold on, son.”
“A lively little sparrow perched by my side at dawn.
We enjoyed each other’s company and gossipped for quite long.
And then, it rubbed its beak against you;
It tickled me, slightly,
And then it was OK. You were still asleep, Maa.
After some time, it flew away.
“When the tickle turned into a sharp pain, I bent down to find a snick on my stalk.”
“The breeze will stop after a while, and I’ll mend your stalk and all will be fine!
Till then, just cling to me with all your might.”
“With each stroke of wind,
The pang grows worse, and the cut seems to widen!”
“All will be fine, hold on, my son, hold on.”
Unaware of the child’s agony,
The breeze grows gustier
To delight the young members of the green world.
While the others swing with wilder excitement,
The poor leaf’s grip loosens with every stroke of wind.
Up and down, to and fro, he is hurled and pushed,
Yet, he clings to his mother, and to his wish to evade death.
He looks at his mother, and says “Mamma,”
She knows all about her vulnerable kids; she only says,
“Son, remember the mud down there is your real mother!”
Another whiff of wind,
Gently it glissades,
His muscles now loose and relaxed;
Descends down the invisible stairs of air,
And noiselessly settles
Just over the slanky shade of his mother.
(Inspired by The Daily Post’s one-word prompt Cling)