When my leaves choose to shed themselves,
like strands of youth bidding a middle-aged man adieu,

may I be reminded
that my roots are still the same,
ingrained in every fibre of my waning soul.

When my trunk becomes hollow,
with voids of people
who can’t be remembered or forgotten,
voids that don’t long to be filled,

may I be reminded
of the baby squirrel’s first nibbles,
that I’m home to more than me.

And even when my branches
can no longer appear in your pictures and paintings,
for you crave to make lively memories
while I can only live in mine,

may my shadow
still be enough to shield you,
as I become a shadow
of my former myself.

May I be reminded
that I’m still upright,
still alive,
and there’s a new season to look forward to.

May I be reminded
that by just standing still,
but still standing,
I’m moving ahead.

~ Still Varun Dani