Stolen leaves

I have a book of poems which I can’t read. My every attempt to read it becomes a setback. In so many days I have been able to read only few pages of it. Reading the poems gives me pain. The author seems to have stolen my poems, so I feel cheated. Those poems have almost same rhythm and tunes, as I had written in those days under the tree. I wonder if I find the author, should I sue him.
Those poems were written by me under the tree in the barrens when I was crying. I used to write those poems on the falling leaves of the tree. May the author have collected those leaves and arranged them in the book.
I like to cry in the barrens, because I am a man. Men are not supposed to cry in public. If not barrens, pillows become the companions. When I cry, the tears fall on my heart where the heavy stones are kept. These infinite tears are capable of melting them down. Reading those poems may dry out my tears. And the heavy stones will not be able to melt down due to lack of tears.
I feel those heavy stones put on by the circumstances around me and the society I live. The woman inside me wants to cry loudly. I want to shed my tears under the tree in the barren land again. There I shall write again on the falling leaves and recollect those poems again. I shall collect every leave from there, and this time I will not leave any leaf there. Once every poem is recollected on those leaves, I shall open the book and read to see what alterations have been with my poems.
I can’t throw that book because I am a human with my own limitations. Apart from my limited capacity I see more probable things that can happen. May today I shall not find out the tree again. May the leaves not fall now, on which I can write again. May in the barrens the rain start falling and wash out all my tears and melt down those heavy stones and the leaves will become useless for me.
I can’t read the book and I can’t throw it too. I feel angry as well as guilty.