I wish that my life
could be a banyan tree, large,
massive, eternal, offering shelter to travelers, wanderers, exhausted ones, when lacking support and nourished inadequately
p from the p
o trunk, o
e poetry e
t would be the t
r prop r
y roots and y
. my support .
. system .
[birds cawing, screeching]
“Mommy dearest I'm bleeding
Through birth I’m feeling”
[trees are leaving]
Grown feet and with large strides
“They leave me here and go elsewhere”
To live, birth, and strive
“Now I’ve got nowhere but the cells in my veins to hide
Where I weep to sleep because pain has sent me
Staggering into a sunset invisible to me”
[not meaning to make it about she,
but conclusions arise that we can’t defeat]
[background chatter stimulates the flight of bees]
[buzzing fills the air, men feel suffocated
and can’t see their free seeping
through their fingers like the sand on the shore
where they’ve left their boats]
[They leave these boats with no mind
even though their fathers planted the trees
who gave their all
to be built into a ship
strong enough to carry the sun]
I see a cut down
tree holding the sun , I see
two old people kiss
I see all the colours and the
Shapes leaves can turn into
I feel the rough wood of a gentle tree
Scratch the moss around its trunk
Getting it under my nails
I touch your skin your hair your lips
Look at you in the eyes to gaze your joyful expression.
But all this in thought as I
Lay down in bed my hair dying on sorrow pillows
The smell of rain precedes the storm
that looms out in the west.
The sound of distant thunder
causes racing in my chest.
The temperature begins to drop
as I begin to flee
Seeking shelter from the storm
beneath a lonely tree.
I cower there, although I know
this haven's a mistake.
I know this is a lightning rod
but that's the chance I take.
The clouds, like battlements,
now, tower overhead
they fill my heart with dread.
Drops of rain begin to fall
and plop among the leaves
Followed my the icy hail
that toward my shelter weaves.
A branch has fallen near my crouch
and nearly I am crushed.
My choice to wait beneath the tree
now seems a little rushed.
I stumble out into the storm.
The rain is driving hard.
Lightning strikes the tree I'd left.
The trunk is black and charred.
How foolish was my little hike
in spite of warnings thus.
Stay at home when storms approach
or next time...take the bus
That tree that stood tall...
Years of knowledge ingrained in its ligaments...
(Numerously choked by its own rings)
I still see our carvings...
(The haunting scars imbedded deep into the bark and our memories.)
Hieroglyphic memorials for our first everything...
(The dates of which things died.)
The knot furled into its center...
(Forget-me-nots decaying at its very roots.)
Do you remember?
(How hard was it to forget?)