Trees
When we arrived in this world—
the trees had already walked in silence for ages,
their shadows had fallen upon the rivers,
their trembling leaves had stirred the deep sleep of the wind.
We came with dreams,
yet they were awake in profound stillness—
on every branch time had built its nest,
on every trunk was carved a season’s memory.
yet they were awake in profound stillness—
on every branch time had built its nest,
on every trunk was carved a season’s memory.
Man believes this earth belongs to him.
And yet the morning light that blooms upon the fields
slips only through the gaps of leaves—
but we do not see.
They do not speak—
yet in every breath their touch lingers,
but we do not feel.
They do not weep—
yet with every saw’s scream a drop of blood falls,
but we do not hear.
Our cities rise upon bricks torn from their roots,
and we call it—
civilization.
The trees only stand in silence,
perhaps thinking,
one day mankind will know
where the light was,
and where destruction lay.
The trees are older than us—
their bond with this earth
runs deeper than ours.
Yet we claim, we seize,
we tear the forest’s chest to build our dwellings,
we lose the soil in our sky-reaching dreams.
And still, with just a sliver of shade,
a breath of air,
we search for peace—
the very gifts trees scatter freely,
day after day, without demand.
The trees live beside us,
yet apart, like a planet of their own—
only silent,
only green,
only pure.
Hesitation
I’ve wanted to leave, many times,
your nameless city where the air has no scent,
where letters no longer arrive—yet post offices stand,
remembering someone who once came
with a long sentence of sorrow.
Each step swears farewell,
yet every heartbeat whispers
a prayer in your name.
Between leaving and staying,
I wander—
knowing departure is my fate,
yet pausing at every turn
for the shadow of you.
Here I stand,
at a forbidden, uncertain dusk,
where love and departure both linger incomplete,
and there, I remain—
your lingering hesitation.
