Trees are poems that earth writes for
the sky; we fell them down and turn them into paper, that we may record our
emptiness. –Kahlil
Gibran
There
it was
in
the neighbour’s compound
leaning
against my backyard wall
the
curious tree
peeking
into many homes
with
its unruly branches
whose
strange fruit
invited
the parrots
the
sparrows and the noisy crows
the
chew-chew-chew squirrels
running
up and down
its
coarse roads
the
chatter that filled
many
uneasy silences
and
kept the kids and pets amused
the
thick leaves like gossiping ladies
whispered
and murmured
a
thousand secrets
and
then at dusk huddled
their
green heads together
to
sway with the temple bells
the
breeze it sent forth
never
claiming its due
in
making hot afternoons bearable
the
breeze inspiring songs
in
these lifeless urban homes
now
there is a stump
of
memories, breeze, green joys
and
so many little nooks
which
were homes
The
tree was guilty
of
being uncivilized
of
giving without asking
so
now they have
asked
for its life!