Speaking of the Many Silences

Of all the silences, I like best that which attends the fall of a dead-leaf, and, the birth of a new shoot. Now remember my mind, remember till there's nothing in your memory left untouched. Remember while the foot-steps that I'd left behind upon the meadows and deserts, mountains and waves, and hurricanes and fleeting moments fade away from remembrance. Then, the unseen tomorrows may all happen at once, filling this morning's emptiness, touching the other times and spaces ever present in my heart, and bring the lingering yesterdays to their full conclusions. Till then, the silence of the falling leaf wouldn't reach the emerging shoot. And, you'd be haunted as ever, by the obsession of yours to roll-up and carry on your shoulders, the path which you'd crossed over.

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