Some stayed back,
oh well, they remain grounded,
unambitious, yet happy
among fallen mango leaves
in my backyard,
circa 1994...
Oh, how the memory fails,
rots,
becomes compost for trees
like those long buried leaves.
The tunes, though, play true, fresh;
sweat in the humid sun, alive;
and make my daughter sway
while leaves fall still in denial.
Am I in denial too,
or is it just the lyrical irony
in poems who forgot they're songs,
and chose earth,
and an eternal flux defending
ethical dilemmas and carnal absolutes.
-- Leslie Xavier
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