The little leaf

I pity the little leaf

Noone notices it, all they see is the tree

The hugely spread tree

With millions of leaves

All overshadowing each other

Yet none do we see

Except for the tree

Who in itself would have hardly any identity

Had it not been for the leaf losing its individuality

It is the little leaf which bears it all

The brutal rain, the scorching sun, the dusty wind 

And still stick to its stem it does

while crying tears of pain

which we see as beautiful dew

Or even after-effects of rain

while the strong tree stands tall

But finally the leaf loses the struggle

Withered, each falls 

In its own time

Till all that is left is the tree

Only then do we see, it is empty

Without the leaf,  its non-identity.