My Tree* Poem by wardha jawdat

I see a man:
He sits atop the roof of his house
Idle.

There is something broken about him
Something deathly silent;
He sits staring intently
At my tree;
He is a loner, I can tell
A man of few, but meaningful words:
Who seeks the healing of the soul.
The silent majesty of my tree
The age, the warm beauty
Tell him the same soothing tale
I too often seek:
A tale of perseverance through drought
Of discipline in adversity
Of dignified endurance in storm
A tale of death in autumns and rebirth in springs,
I can see his spirit respond
To the balming tale of regeneration.
His eyes sparkle with tears of realized pain;
And hope buds of life beyond it.
He looks my way
And we share a moment of humanity
Linked in pain
Seeking the healing
Through nature
God
And each other.


*...to me trees are the biggest warmest bear hugs nature has ever handed out....they inspire me thus.