By Ekta Sharma
She clings to the branch, quiet and small,
A golden whisper in autumn’s call.
The others left, one by one,
Falling gently, their journey begun.
The house once echoed with laughter and play,
Now, silence lingers at end of day.
She watched them leave—her brothers, her sister,
With dreams in their eyes, yet a promise to halt forever.
She stayed behind, the youngest one,
A daughter, a shadow beneath the sun.
Her mother’s warmth, her father’s gaze,
Wrapped her tight in love’s embrace.
But seasons change, as seasons do,
And time arrived to take her too.
She left that home, with tear-stained eyes,
Carrying blessings and silent goodbyes.
Now in a home of love and light,
With hands that hold her through the night.
Her heart is full, her days are bright,
Yet still, she longs for her childhood sight.
She smiles with him—her love, her own,
Yet in the quiet, she feels alone.
A call, a laugh, a story shared,
Yet nothing feels like being there.
Like the last leaf upon the tree,
Carried far, yet never free.
For roots of love run deep and wide,
And home will always live inside.