Poverty Poem by SRIRANJI ARATISANKAR

Onece one of my leaves left me,
Withered hostile; making friendship with north-wind
pretends to be a boat properly...
Vying with birds flown over the sky;
Dropped down on a snady valley spinning..
Floating on the topsy-turvy unknown current
disappeared...behind foggy magical back-ground..

Thereafter other leaves wrangling
Strom-tossed left me one by one
Since their departure I'am merely tree
A leafless tree indeed...play on spectral pipe
Hold high my branches waiting for spring days.....