The Trail I Leave

The Trail I Leave - English Poem - Little Authors -

The Trail I Leave

As I pick up my cycle,
Before the onset of sun,
After a fortnight of rain,
The water yet to drain.

I make my way through,
The puddles and swamps,
With no will to do,
Or be shown to the light of lamps.

As I keep on riding,
No care or dare,
Behind all the grieving,
With no one to compare.

When I keep going,
I don’t realise the trail I left,
The result of passing through a puddle,
Its movement deft.

The trail is neither,
Writing in sand,
Nor is it etching in stone,
but something so natural, done by hand.

At the end of the ride,
The trail I leave,
It’s path; about it,
A story I could weave.

The trail I leave,
We all leave,
It is our past, present and future,
Also our bereaves.

It is essential for,
A smooth functioning of life,
For yourself to be known,
For every move, action and strife.

The trail we praise,
But what about the puddle,
The puddle dries out,
Leaving a strand so muddled.

The trail goes on,
until it fades out,
While ‘twas there,
A path and a route.

This is the trail I leave,
Do leave yours too,
Before it’s too late,
To make your dreams come true.

By Aryaa Sridar

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The Trail I Leave

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