gulab khandelwal selected poems

We are dried leaves on a tree.
Even if spring comes,
We have no use for it.
No gush of wind
Can make us green as before.
Just tossing and waving like this,
We will any moment fall down on the ground
And get scattered.
Our coming here,
Rustling in the air for some time
And then going away,
Is’t not all futile?