It feels like a tree without leaves,
No one appreciates me,
Too scared to make my own food,
Even if there is photosynthesis,
Too dark until no one saw me,
Trying to make oxygen for someone breath,
But I also don’t use carbon dioxide much,
But
Thanks to the wind even though I couldn’t feel it,
But it was always with me.
I think I'd better be cut,
I'm too useless for being a tree
I look at the scenery on the bus everyday
It's the same trees
The same grass
The same guardrails and sheep out in the paddock
But today I looked up
For the first time ever I looked up,
and instead of watching the repeated landscape
I saw beautiful clouds
Changing and moving
And I felt peace
One didn't have the faintest notion
The slightest hint
Of what was to come.
A few flowers fell at first
Feigning sleep, and hugged the ground.
Looking up, I saw the branches tremble.
What was there to fear?
Then a forlorn little one broke away
And fell – on the soft grass.
Marvelling at the way the treetop swayed,
I chuckled when a small mango hit my shoulder
Too small, to take a bite.
Faintly, I heard the rumble of a distant thunder -
Then dark clouds approached the skies rapidly
Darkening my world, swift, ruthless.
There were flashes in the sky
You who stand beneath me,
Look up at me for a while -
While you smell, breath in deep
The fragrance of my little flowers.
Did it hurt when the flower fell
On your head, my humble gift,
Here, I bend a branch of mine,
Hold, pluck the succulent fruit
For your child, a present from me.
Lean on to me, though my skin is rough,
But feel my heart that throbs for you
My veins full of the blood of love.
Here, I fan you with my leaves,
Lest you feel tired in the heat.
Did it hurt when you cut
Chopped off the branches
To be honest, we looked so pathetic.
A raggedly line of people
Not more than fifteen
Standing, disheveled
By the side of the busy city street
Holding placards
Asking not to cut down trees
As around us dust swirled,
Remains of the huge trees lay
The uprooted roots like
Splayed innards of a roadkill.
We said, ‘look, the trees are our heritage’.
We asked, ‘how dare you cut what you did not plant?’
We cried, ‘how can this cool shade cast a shadow
On your way to progress?’
Cars and bikes honked us to the brim of the ditches
Did you know?
They are cutting down the old trees
Up in the cantonment area
So that you can ride
In contentment
Cocooned in your air-conditioned car.
You wouldn’t know, sir
That I have walked under their shade
For the last forty years
On and off, not everyday
On and off, light to shade
From hot to cool
From peace to strife and back
Among the old trees
As they stretched out their branches
To protect me from the glare
My home, oasis in the middle of concrete desert.
'Still at the old house?', they ask me -
Little do they know I am so proud and smug
That I live in the hand- me-down decrepit
Where my grandmother and other ghosts linger.
I see them; there he is, my father, hopping down
From the coconut frond to nibble the leftover rice
There she is, my mother, the bossy Jungle Crow
Trying to edge out the squirrel.
Grandmother comes in the evening, hooting,
Espying from behind the tree leaves
Muttering to herself, uttering inaudible curses
At me, her grandson, that impractical dreamer.
They are all there, cousins and aunts
Maids and men, children and dogs.
They come as they wish,
Why do you, Toad, look at me
So impassive, so self-assured?
You sit - no, squat on all your fours
your warty skin, wrinkled and ridged
Your glands swollen with poison -
Think I didn't know?
Go forth, be not afraid of me!
Go forth and procreate!
For you and your kind, here -
A blade of grass, a dried leaf
A twig to play with -
The shade of the great trees -
And over there, Kunthi, for your children!
Like being hit by a speeding truck
And then, like a lover’s gentle caress
The winds of Nagercoil blow
From the east, the west and all around.
Among the grass, the dragonflies veer-
Swing up and away and then twist
To drop: pummelled by the winds, they
Grapple with the twigs as if on a joyride.
The ponds ripple; little waves rise
Like young girls shivering at their lovers’ kiss.
The crows and doves like drunkards
Stagger in the air; the tall palms sway
Their leaves chatter, huddled close like kids
The green paddy, as far as the eye can see-
Undulating waves of a vast sea.
Then – the winds would drop
When was the last time
My privates pricked, playfully
By the teasing raindrops
Splattered by the wind?
When was the last time
I stood in the rain, nude?
As a child? No, mother would have
Frisked me away and gave
A slap on my bottom too!
Once I stripped on a beach
Blushing at my lesser size
Than that of the tourist by my side.
Played, all dangling,
Jumping and rolling,
Bewildering unfamiliar freedom.
It wasn’t raining then, though.
It is spring; a tree flowers.
You may love it
You may hate it
You may fail to notice it.
Nothing matters to the tree;
To flower in spring
Is in the nature of the tree.
Blinding sun-
My shadow, pause awhile
As you pass my grave
And I will be content with thee.
One day, life will bloom
From my remains –
Then, in its shade-
Stay, forever.