Today, I realized,
It’s been long since I danced to the gushes of wind of the fall,
Long since I sang to the birds that nest in my branches,
I was too busy giving shade to the passersby who ate seeds and littered my feet with plastic wrappers.
You see, I was a seed once, too, and then a sapling,
I looked up and gazed at Ma, who used to filter the sun so that it was just enough for us saplings.
She sang to us that it would be our noble duty one day to welcome everyone in our leafy arms when we would be as old as her.
The birds cheered to her songs while the squeaky squirrels added to the chorus.
She danced with the storm’s gusty winds, through pouring rain, and even when the sun shone bright.
But she sang it one last time and soon forgot about us.
She became busy looking after the guests that sat among us.
Giving them shelter even when they scribbled painful wounds on her skin.
Today, I realized I had forgotten to sing, too.
Ma thought her leafy canopy was insufficient, and her concern made it difficult for her leaves to stick to her, depleting her shade.
This vicious cycle made the birds concerned, the squirrels alarmed, and the strangers left gradually.
The birds requested a song from her again, thinking it might bring her back, but they couldn’t chirp through her self-contempt.
Soon, a day came when the winds proved too strong for her, and she bent down, never to rise up again.
The birds flew away, the squirrels fled, and the strangers returned.
With her last remaining breath, she tried to sing a song again, I tried to sing along with my shaking voice, but it got masked with the sound of her carcass getting dragged away.
I am as tall as Ma now. My canopy shelters the whole park. But just like Ma, I am not confident with my branches anymore. The strangers came and scratched on me the same, but I grew more concerned about whether my shadow was enough for them. It is my duty. I try to look at my sibling for songs of encouragement, but today, I realized, she got plucked away by a stranger for having flowers too beautiful. I wish she helped me add to my canopy on the days when I couldn’t.
So, I turned back to my birds, who have been waiting for my songs for centuries. To my squirrels, who value how much I care about sheltering their food. And I tried to sing. I had forgotten the words, but they reminded me and sang along. The winds vibed with my melodious branches as the rain washed away my sins. My leaves started growing again.
Strangers will come and go. They will hurt you when you shelter them. Curse you when you sing to them. Drag you through the ground when you need help. And you must keep offering them a haven from the sun’s rays. It’s your duty. But if you want to live, you turn back to your family and sing, and they’ll sing along with you.
So, today, I realized,
You can’t really forget to sing,
Unless you want to.
Tag: tree
The Elephant Who Learned How to Climb
No one ever asked him what he wanted to be. Ever since his first steps, his father showed him off to his friends and boasted, “Look at his strong legs, he’ll surely be a Climber!”. The Climber. The one that his parents couldn’t be, despite their burning desires.
So when he was supposed to play with his other friends from the jungle, the little elephant was snatched away from the playground and enrolled to a “jumping school”. Specialized teachers like kangaroos and grasshoppers had been enlisted to clear the basics of these little admitted kids. It was their sole responsibility to train them so that they could be ready for the next step, climbing.
The elephant tried hard. Really hard. Animals laughed as he tried to jump with his round belly, balancing himself with his long snout. Tears got mixed with the dirt as he fell on his face everyday. His sobs were masked by the laughter of his classmates. Still he didn’t give up. He did not want to see his parents upset. In a few years he learnt to leap over small shrubs and bushes, which was enough to get him enrolled into the climbing classes. But maybe it was not worth his bleeding tusks.
Climbing classes included more specialized teachers like the bear and the cheetah. They were considered the best, since they had once taught even a goat to reach the top branch of the famous Old Oak at the end of the jungle. Their other accomplished students, the orangutan and the raccoon, had their pictures carved on every tree bark in the jungle. The elephant parents were pleased to see that they had brought their son to the right place. But no one asked him if he wanted to learn it.
Soon the judgement day arrived. Continue reading “The Elephant Who Learned How to Climb”
Look at me
Look at me…
You know I’m standing right here,
Down where the ground touches my feet.
You’re high up on the highest branch,
Picking rotting fruits from a dying tree.
While I stand here with a basket of fresh ones,
Asking the squirrels to replace yours quietly.
Look at me…
You know when this tree was in its youth,
Was the time I was first able to see
You in that golden dress which they admired,
And you silently cried as the rough edges cut your skin.
But your tears couldn’t hide from me.
I know it was late, I should have come early;
The leaves were not as green as before, I see,
Yet they had colour enough to last eternity,
Before they turned brown.
Look at me…
I helped you make the dress you like,
As the smooth corners healed your sheen.
I picked the flowers myself but told the birds
To give them to you quietly,
Maybe because I wasn’t deigned enough to face you;
Or maybe because they say less of your beauty,
And more of the dresses you wore even if they hurt you,
But you liked my dress a little more;
Still you didn’t know me.
Look at me…
You know I’m standing right here,
My feet now on the sand in the scorching heat.
I know you feel my presence now, you can’t deny,
My eyes caress your hand now and then,
As they slowly find less tears in them as you turn empty.
You have learned to live with the fake flowers you receive,
You’ve caught the sneaky squirrels who kept you comfortable;
As you find comfort in the stench of dead dreams,
Which prevents the birds from scaling the skies.
Look at me…
You know I’m still standing here,
My legs bleed as the ants eat through my skin.
They love that odour, and now you live on it,
They killed the squirrels, they killed the birds,
They kill everything that breathes and yet you sit,
Rotting fruits devour your voice.
You don’t need to cry for help, you need only move your lips;
And you do, but not the way I want you to.
You chant their dirge as one of them,
I hold my flowers in hope they ward off the reek.
As the ground swallows me, my insides hurt,
Before I cry your name full of vowels;
As a last chance, so what I’m unworthy?
It’s the last chance for you to look at me…
And you do,
But not the way I want you to…
As I perish in peace,
Knowing the truth.
But at least you looked at me…
I wish he would stand forever,
The one and only dying tree.
The Living Writes 