Empty Grave

To the leaves

at every fall

that falls;

They melted away

and with the

wind they swayed;

Their chlorophyll

became ghost to

the stalk in their stalls,

Though separated

from their stalk but

their essence never fade!

I stumbled upon

death and we

conversed

thrice lately,

A warlord of

beauty with

undaunted pride,

She pounces, pant,

and braces stately,

Wanting my mortality

within its whirl tide,

I have no grave

within death's abode

or beneath;

Do not cry

for it's emptiness

when am gone,

My flesh to the

dust I humbly

bequeath,

My leaf has

flown with the wind

waiting for reborn.

(Poem: “Empty Grave 1” by Olorunleke Odubote)