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The Tree Turning round the corner You see the old, familiar sight: The uprooted tree The unsightly roots - Mangled, Like the tangled claws of an octopus Reaching out to embrace it’s prey; Branches - Like the talons of a witch Spreading her arms To suck the blood of an unwary traveller Bark – Pockmarked from the blows of the woodcutter Frightening the life out of uncounted kids It wasn’t like this not so long ago. It was a majestic figure Standing erect in its pristine glory With an umbrella of leaves Sheltering the weary traveller From the rain and the sun In its fragrant shade Showering the occasional flower, the fruit On an unsuspecting soul Not expecting anything in return Innumerable have been the days When I’ve sat in that enchanting shade Breathing in the fragrance of the flowers Digging deep into the flesh of the fruits Wondering……. Wondering about the tree’s nature – The role of the root The storehouse of all forces The sustainer of all life Yet remaining out of sight Content to be buried deep inside the ground Satisfied in seeing the branches spread, leaves grow, flowers bloom Showering fruits to all, expecting nothing in return. The bark Growing straight up Reaching out to the sky And spreading branches in its journey upward Branches Spreading out from their originator – the bark On which leaves may grow To give shade to the soil Under which lies the root Protecting it from the ravages of nature. And the flowers Who know they are there To give birth to the fruits And then wither away So that the branch does not get bowed down Under its weight When it has outlived its necessity Thus has the tree been Through endless time Through the ages Organized Each part knowing its job Its role And making way for the new Once it has outlived its role Everything going around with clockwork precision Soundlessly, effortlessly How wonderful it would be If we humans, like the tree, Realized our roles And played them out with our souls One man lending a helping hand to another The latter protecting the former And every member helping another Unselfishly Because he was ordained to do so But the fruit of the human tree Shrinks from the thought Of others eating him away And prefers to remain on the branch Bowing it down under its weight Until it screams with the pain And comes apart A dry piece of wood Good only to be consigned to fire The flowers prefer to preserve Their beauty, their fragrance For passers-by to admire Rather than bear the fruits of labour Only to be torn off by a lover To tuck into his sweetheart’s hair Until the hour of love is past And the flower be thrown away - Barren, fruitless, into ignominity How long could the root Remain unaffected by the praises showered Upon the fruits, the flowers The rich shade of the leaves And remain unseen under the ground To continue give life and beauty all round Unseen, unpraised, till eternity? And the root decides Such things cannot be allowed for long Praises should rightfully be unto him He should make himself be seen Thus begins the journey unto end When the root its journey begins to wend Down from below Up above the ground For the world to see And uproots the tree Like the tree round the corner Shorn of its beauty A dry piece of wood For the woodcutter’s axe to fall For cutting into pieces And consigned to fire Completing thus the journey From ashes to the ashes ~Khwab~
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