Autumn leaves are refugees Like my depressed grandfather And diabetic grandmother Who fled to turn fresh green hue Into painterly tinctures Without a compass or map When the autumnal sunshine Grows shorter and Fall embraces withered leaves.
Suffocating somewhere, Where I could not escape from Dwelling there for many a time Gazing at the thatched Roofs of mud hut. My four year Baha Asked tears in eyes, What is the color of hunger ? Perhaps darker than black Or brighter than blue!
When hues left art Sugar maples, aspen and Russet leaves in heap Listening to the tales of Starving humans and empty pockets Awaiting companions to fall off Swore the art to turn into dust!