Tender as Leaves

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Why do I wish it to go on,
When this process is like tender green leaves?
One touch, they'd fall,
One rough pull, they'd tear.

Why do I wish to be here,
When this season is like summer?
One moment, a breath of air,
The next, the moist suffocation.

Why do I hold onto these hopes,
When they're like the monsoon?
One moment, I'll be dancing happily under it,
The next, flooding tears while soaking within it.

Such a charming dream it is to be—
But still, why do I want it?
When it is like a spring,
At first, it'll smell so fresh and pure,
Blossoming in every essence,

But with the season's end, it'd die,
Leaving only misty haze all around.
Such a fantasy it is, but why do I want it?

When it's like winter,
One day, I'm covered in snow, happily playing,
The next, buried beneath it, suffocating,
Praying for life—or death.

What a chaos it is to want
What is beyond my reaches.
What deceit, to be wanted,
When it is not meant to be!

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