The Fallen Leaf
Lofty Asian-Caribbean cheekbones [1]
Where once her tears
fell
To their crushing death
Upon antique cobblestones of a street
Called betrayal
And when she walked
Upon her dead tears, hurried
It was then when I bowed to kiss her
steps
It was then when I fell to my death
I fell like a green leaf
Though I am still green
With certainty I am already dead
And since then
Matters it not I land on
Sand or a flowing brook
Devoured, withered or
crumbled
I will fall where Almighty loves
Feel no sorrow for I
Am though dead and fallen
So free, away from destiny’s dungeon,
I
Am that Persian boy in love
With a kite that never soared
And gold fish that spoke with I
Am in love with a
tricycle
That raced through a street called
happiness
Yes!
I am falling like a leaf
(And do not let the green to deceive)
Paddling on my tricycle I heard
The faraway chuckles of a Haitian girl
Reading the walls aloud: “Freedom,
Equality, Brotherhood”
It was not the French that I
understood
The bow in her hair so loud in my
eyes,
screamed
And dark abyss of her dimples, the
tricycle
fell into [2]
Her running golden folded knees [3]
Frozen still in arctic ice
Of a black and white postal card
(And indeed my name not on this one)
No one cares about a leaf
Stays on? Or to its death tumble
And I am so glad no eyes
to trace my fall
It is… these not-gazed-upon falls
that one
Falls in love with Beloved
Just like the Haitian girl that
Fell of the
serpent-ridden tree
The same tree that bears the fruit
That bitter fruit of shattered hearts
(Grows in orchards of Haiti or Persia)
She fell into her throne, helpless
Silently reading the chapter book of
happiness
(And she has much difficulty with the
language)
Indeed if perchance you
walked by her court
You may hear the eyes of Allah
Gazing upon her Nubian heart [4]
Whether falling from a tricycle
In streets of Persia
Or falling from grace
Mountains of Ken scoff
We are all green leaves falling
From the same tree
Be not fooled by this old tree
And it’s poisonous blossoms of untrue
promises
Embrace the wind and fly
Fly young
Do you think it matters where you
fall?
Streets of Port Au Prince or rooftops
of
Tehran?
I am fallen and farewell to you Creola
I am fallen and dizzying around
The old tree, the blossoms, my
tricycle
The pink bow, and the writings on the
wall
All just whirling images
Round and round
Distant echoes of screams for fist
full of
freedom
Distant echoes of
demands for equality
Distant echoes of fading chants for
brotherhood
And my beloved it was and is
The only real thing indeed
The fall
The fall from this tree
So fall, fall young
Fall now my enchanted
Creola
This world is a poisonous tree
and we are
all leaves on its branches. No matter what we are we all going to fall
from
this tree. Some will fall and be Haitians, some may fall be Persians,
some will
fall be White racists some may fall and be lovers. But it matters not
where we
fall, what matters is the very act of falling.
The poison of this tree is its
false
promises. That you will be a leaf forever on its branches and in
reality you
know well, you will soon fall and be gone. That you will be better than
all
others, but in reality you are just another leaf like any other.
All leaves are linked together
somehow by
this tree, thinking that a Haitian girl has nothing to do with a lad on
a bike
in Tehran, is like being under a tree and saying the leaves falling
from this
tree are in no relations to each other.
You fall from
this tree to wherever the
destiny takes you while the Almighty graces you by viewing your fall
and loves
you no matter where you fall upon. If you fall ailing with AIDS in a
hut in
Haiti, Beloved the Creator loves you. Man has no control on love and
justice of
the Lord of the universe.
[1] Asian-Caribbean Cheekbones: A place were a
man
cries himself into purity sobbing for his Lord
[2] Darkness:
Hypocrisy has made the
light dark and the darkness of her skin battles the false light,
radiating the
purity
[3]
Folded Knees: Sitting on ones’
knees in act of worship mixed with compassionate gesture of nursing
one’s love
i.e. a pious nurse
[4] Nub means gold in ancient Pharaohnic
language referring to the Sudanese miners who mined gold for the
Pharaohs.
Background: School
girl
weeping after being teargassed by police, Haiti, 1995. Photograph by
Roger Richards.
© 2003-2002,
Dara Shayda